Wee 
VillieWinkie 


LIBRARY  ^ 

UNIVERSITY  OP 

CALIFORNIA 
SAN  DIEGOu. 


WEE    WILLIE    WINKIE 


/ 


Wee  Willie  Winkie  *  *  *  * 
and  «  *  #  *  Other  Stories 
*  *  *  and  American  Notes 

By  «  t!  «  *  Rudyard  Kipling 


Chicago  and  New  York  *  *  « 
Rand,  McNally  &  Company 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Wee  Willie  Winkie 7 

Baa  Baa,  Black  Sheep, 35 

His  Majesty  the  King, '   .   111 

The  Drums  of  the  Fore  and  Aft, 14 t 


AMERICAN  NOTES. 

At  the  Golden -Gate, 231 

American  Politics, 269 

American  Catches,  . 302 

Astride  the  Clouds, 327 

Chicago,    .    - 354 

The  American  Army, 381 


WEE  WILLIE  WINKIE. 


"  An  officer  and  a  gentleman.  " 
His  full  name  was  Percival  William 
Williams,  but  he  picked  up  the  other 
name  in  a  nursery-book,  and  that  was  the 
end  of  the  christened  titles.  His  mother's 
ayah  called  him  WiW'ie-Ba&a,  but  as  he 
never  paid  the  faintest  attention  to  any- 
thing that  the  ayah  said,  her  wisdom  did 
not  help  matters. 

His  father  was  the  colonel  of  the  195th, 
and  as  soon  as  Wee  Willie  Winkie  was 
old  enough  to  understand  what  military 
discipline  meant,  Colonel  Williams  put 
him  under  it.  There  was  no  other  way 
of    managing  the  child.     When  he  was 

(7) 


8  WEE    WILLIE   WINKIE. 

good  for  a  week,  he  drew  good-conduct 
pay;  and  when  he  was  bad,  he  was  de- 
prived  of  his  good-conduct  stripe.  Gen- 
erally he  was  bad,  for  India  offers  so  many 
chances  to  little  six-year-olds  of  going 
wrong. 

Children  resent  familiarity  from  strang- 
ers, and  Wee  Willie  Winkie  was  a  very 
particular  child.  Once  he  accepted  an 
acquaintance  he  was  graciously  pleased 
to  thaw.  He  accepted  Brandis,  a  subal- 
tern of  the*  195th,  on  sight.  Brandis  was 
having  tea  at  the  Colonel's,  and  Wee 
Willie  Winkie  entered,  strong  in  the 
possession  of  a  good-conduct  badge  won 
for  not  chasing  the  hens  round  the  com- 
pound. He  regarded  Brandis  with  grav- 
ity for  at  least  ten  minutes,  and  then  de- 
livered himself  of  his  opinion. 

"  I  like  you,"  said  he,  slowly,  getting  off 
his  chair  and    coming   over   to    Brandis. 


WEE    WILLIE    WINK1E.  Q 

"  I  like  you.  I  shall  call  you  Coppy, 
because  of  your  hair.  Do  you  mind  being 
called  Coppy?  It  is  because  of  ve  hair, 
you  know." 

Here  was  one  of  the  most  embarrassing 
of  Wee  Willie  Winkle's  peculiarities.  He 
would  look  at  a  stranger  for  some  time, 
and  then,  without  warning  or  explanation, 
would  give  him  a  name.  And  the  name 
stuck.  No  regimental  penalties  could 
break  Wee  Willie  Winkie  of  this  habit. 
He  lost  his  good-conduct  badge  for  chris- 
tening the  commissioner's  wife  "  Pobs;  " 
but  nothing  that  the  Colonel  could  do 
made  the  station  forego  the  nickname, 
and  Mrs.  Collen  remained  Mm,  "  Pobs  " 
till  the  end  of  her  stay.  So  Brandis  was 
christened  "  Coppy,"  and  rose,  therefore, 
in  the  estimation  of  the  regiment. 

If  Wee  Willie  Winkie  took  an  interest 
in  any  one,  the  fortunate  man  was  envied 


IO  WEE    WILLIE    WINKIE. 

alike  by  the  mess  and  the  rank  and  file. 
And  in  their  envy  lay  no  suspicion  of 
self-interest.  "The  Colonel's  son"  was 
idolized  on  his  own  merits  entirely.  Yet 
Wee  Willie  Winkie  was  not  lovely.  His 
face  was  permanently  freckled,  as  his  legs 
were  permanently  scratched,  and,  in  spite 
of  his  mother's  almost  tearful  remon- 
strances, he  had  insisted  upon  having  his 
long,  yellow  locks  cut  short  in  the  military 
fashion.  "  I  want  my  hair  like  Sergeant 
Tummil's,"  said  Wee  Willie  Winkie;  and, 
his  father  abetting,  the  sacrifice  was  ac- 
complished. 

Three  weeks  after  the  bestowal  of  his 
youthful  affections  on  Lieutenant  Brandis 
— henceforward  to  be  called  "Coppy"  for 
the  sake  of  brevity — Wee  Willie  Winkie 
was  destined  to  behold  strange'things  and 
far  beyond  his  comprehension. 

Coppy  returned  his  liking  with  interest. 


WEE    WILLIE    WINKIE.  II 

Coppy  had  let  him  wear  for  five  rapturous 
minutes  his  own  big  sword — just  as  tall  as 
Wee  Willie  Winkie.  Coppy  had  prom- 
ised him  a  terrier  puppy;  and  Coppy  had 
permitted  him  to  witness  the  miraculous 
operation  of  shaving.  Nay,  more — Coppy 
had  said  that  even  he,  Wee  Willie  Winkie, 
would  rise  in  time  to  the  ownership  of  a 
box  of  shiny  knives,  a  silver  soap-box,  and 
a  silver-handled  "sputter-brush,"  as  Wee 
Willie  Winkie  called  it.  Decidedly,  there 
was  no  one,  except  his  father — who  could 
give  or  take  away  good-conduct  badges  at 
pleasure — half  so  wise,  strong,  and  valiant 
as  Coppy  with  the  Afghan  and  Egyptian 
medals  on  his  breast.  Why,  then,  should 
Coppy  be  guilty  of  the  unmanly  weakness 
of  kissing — vehemently  kissing — a  "  big 
girl,"  Miss  Allardyce  to  wit?  In  the  course 
of  a  morning  ride,  Wee  Willie  Winkie 
had  seen  Coppy  so   doing,  and,  like  the 


12  WEE    WILLIE    WINKIE. 

gentleman  he  was,  had  promptly  wheeled 
round  and  cantered  back  to  his  groom, 
lest  the  groom  should  also  see. 

Under  ordinary  circumstances  he  would 
have  spoken  to  his  father,  but  he  felt 
instinctively  that  this  was  a  matter  on 
which  Coppy  ought  first  to  be  consulted. 

"  Coppy,"  shouted  Wee  Willie  Winkie, 
reining  up  outside  that  subaltern's  bunga- 
low early  one  morning — "  I  want  to  see 
you,   Coppy!" 

"  Come  in,  young  un,"  returned  Coppy, 
who  was  at  early  breakfast  in  the  midst 
of  his  dogs.  "  What  mischief  have  you 
been  getting  into  now?  " 

Wee  Willie  Winkie  had  done  nothing 
notoriously  bad  for  three  days,  and  so 
stood  on  a  pinnacle  of  virtue. 

"  I've  been  doing  nothing  bad,"  said  he, 
curling  himself  into  a  long  chair  with  a 
studious  affectation  of  the  Colonel's  Ian- 


WEE   WILLIE    WINKIE.  1 3 

guor  after  a  hot  parade.  He  buried  his 
freckled  nose  in  a  tea-cup,  and,  with  eyes 
staring  roundly  over  the  rim,  asked:  "  I 
say,  Coppy,  is  it  pwoper  to  kiss  big  girls?  " 

"  By  Jove!  You're  beginning  early. 
Who  do  you  want  to  kiss?  " 

"No  one.  My  muvver's  always  kissing 
me  if  I  don't  stop  her.  If  it  isn't  pwoper, 
how  was  you  kissing  Major  Allardyce's 
big  girl  last  morning,  by  ve  canal?  " 

Coppy's  brow  wrinkled.  He  and  Miss 
Allardyce  had,  with  great  craft,  managed 
to  keep  their  eno-agement  secret  for  a 
fortnight.  There  were  urgent  and  imper- 
ative reasons  why  Major  Allardyce  should 
not  know  how  matters  stood  for  at  least 
another  month,  and  this  small  marplot 
had  discovered  a  great  deal  too  much. 

"  I  saw  you,"  said  Wee  Willie  Winkie, 
calmly.  "  But  ve  groom  didn't  see.  I 
said,  •  Hut  jao?  " 


14  WEE    WILLIE    WINKIE. 

"  Oh,  you  had  that ,  much  sense,  you 
young  rip,"  groaned  poor  Coppy,  half- 
amused  and  half-angry.  "And  how  many 
people  may  you  have  told  about  it?  " 

"Only  me  myself.  You  didn't  tell 
when  I  twied  to  wide  ve  buffalo  ven  my 
pony  was  lame;  and  I  fought  you  wouldn't 
like," 

"  Winkie,"  said  Coppy,  enthusiastically, 
shaking  the  small  hand,  "  you're  the  best 
of  good  fellows.  Look  here,  you  can't 
understand  all  these  things.  One  of  these 
days — hang  it,  how  can  I  make  you  see  it! 
— I'm  going  to  marry  Miss  Allardyce, 
and  then  she'll  be  Mrs.  Coppy,  as  you 
say.  If  your  young  mind  is  so  scandal- 
ized at  the  idea  of  kissing  big  girls,  go 
and  tell  your  father." 

"  What  will  happen?  "  said  Wee  Willie 
Winkie,  who  firmly  believed  that  his 
father  was  omnipotent. 


WEE    WILLIE    WINKIE.  1 5 

"  I  shall  get  into  trouble,"  said  Coppy, 
playing  his  trump  card  with  an  appealing 
look  at  the  holder  of  the  ace. 

"Ven  I  won't,"  said  Wee  Willie  Winkie, 
briefly.  "  But  my  faver  says  it's  un-man-ly 
to  be  always  kissing,  and  I  didn't  fink 
youd  do  vat,  Coppy." 

"  I'm  not  always  kissing,  old  chap.  It's 
only  now  and  then,  and  when  you're  big- 
ger you'll  do  it,  too.  Your  father  meant 
it's  not  good  for  little  boys." 

"Ah!  "said  Wee  Willie  Winkie,  now 
fully  enlightened.  "  It's  like  ve  sputter- 
brush?" 

"  Exactly,"  said  Coppy,  gravely. 

"  But  I  don't  fink  I'll  ever  want  to  kiss 
big  girls,  nor  no  one,  'cept  my  muwer. 
And  I  must  vat,  you  know." 

There  was  a  long  pause  broken  by 
Wee  Willie  Winkie. 

"  Are  you  fond  of  vis  big  girl,  Coppy?  " 


1 6  WEE    WILLIE    WINKIE. 

"  Awfully!"  said  Coppy. 

"Fonder  van  you  are  of  Bell  or  ve 
Butcha- — or  me?  " 

"  It's  in  a  different  way,"  said  Coppy. 
"You  see,  one  of  these  days  Miss  Allar- 
dyce  will  belong  to  me,  but  you'll  grow 
up  and  command  the  regiment  and — all 
sorts  of  things.  It's  quite  different,  you 
see. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Wee  Willie  Winkie, 
rising.  "If  you're  fond  of  ve  big  girl,  I 
won't  tell  any  one.     I  must  go  now." 

Coppy  rose  and  escorted  his  small  guest 
to  the  door,  adding:  "  You're  the  best  of 
little  fellows,  Winkie.  I  tell  you  what. 
In  thirty  days  from  now  you  can  tell  if  you 
like — tell  any  one  you  like." 

Thus  the  secret  of  the  Brandis-Allar- 
dyce  engagement  was  dependent  on  a 
little  child's  word.  Coppy,  who  knew 
Wee  Willie  Winkle's  idea  of  truth,  was  at 


WEE    WILLIE    WINKIE.  I  7 

ease,  for  he  felt  that  he  would  not  break 
promises.  Wee  Willie  Winkie  betrayed 
a  special  and  unusual  interest  in  Miss 
Allardyce,  and,  slowly  revolving  round 
that  embarrassed  young  lady,  was  used 
to  regard  her  gravely  with  unwinking  eye. 
He  was  trying  to  discover  why  Coppy 
should  have  kissed  her.  She  was  not 
half  so  nice  as  his  own  mother.  On  the 
other  hand,  she  was  Coppy's  property, 
and  would  in  time  belong  to  him.  There- 
fore it  behooved  him  to  treat  her  with  as 
much  respect  as  Coppy's  big  sword  or 
shiny  pistol. 

The  idea  that  he  shared  a  great  secret 
in  common  with  Coppy  kept  Wee  Willie 
Winkie  unusually  virtuous  for  three 
weeks.  Then  the  Old  Adam  broke  out, 
and  he  made  what  he  called  a  "  camp-fire  " 
at  the  bottom  of  the  garden.     How  could 

he  have  foreseen  that  the  flying   sparks 
a 


1 8  WEE   WILLIE    WINKLE. 

would  have  lighted  the  Colonel's  little  hay- 
rick and  consumed  a  week's  store  for  the 
horses?  Sudden  and  swift  was  the  pun- 
ishment— deprivation  of  the  good  con- 
duct badge,  and,  most  sorrowful  of  all, 
two  days'  confinement  to  barracks — the 
house  and  veranda — coupled  with  the 
withdrawal  of  the  light  of  his  father's 
countenance. 

He  took  the  sentence  like  the  man  he 
strove  to  be,  drew  himself  up  with  a  quiv- 
ering under-lip,  saluted,  and,  once  clear  of 
the  room,  ran  to  weep  bitterly  in  his 
nursery — called  by  him  "  my  quarters." 
Coppy  came  in  the  afternoon  and 
attempted  to  console  the  culprit. 

"I'm  under  awwest,"  said  Wee  Willie 
Winkie,  mournfully,  "and  I  didn't  ought 
to  speak  to  you." 

Very  early  the  next  morning  he  climbed 
on  to  the  roof  of  the  house — that  was  not 


WEE    WILLIE    WINKIE.  19 

forbidden — and  beheld  Miss  Allardyce 
going  for  a  ride. 

"  Where  are  you  going? "  cried  Wee 
Willie  Winkie. 

"Across  the  river,"  she  answered,  and 
trotted  forward. 

Now  the  cantonment  in  which  the 
195th  lay  was  bounded  on  the  north  by  a 
river — dry  in  the  winter.  From  his  earli- 
est years,  Wee  Willie  Winkie  had  been 
forbidden  to  go  across  the  river,  and  had 
noted  that  even  Coppy — the  almost  al- 
mighty Coppy — had  never  set  foot  beyond 
it.  Wee  Willie  Winkie  had  once  been 
read  to— out  of  a  big,  blue  book — the  his- 
tory of  the  princess  and  the  goblins;  a 
most  wonderful  tale  of  a  land  where  the 
goblins  were  always  warring  with  the 
children  of  men  until  they  were  defeated 
by  one  Curdie.  Ever  since  that  date,  it 
seemed  to  him  that  the  bare  black-and- 


20  WEE    WILLIE   WINKIE. 

purple  hills  across  the  river  were  inhab- 
ited by  goblins,  and,  in  truth,  every  one 
had  said  that  there  lived  the  bad  men. 
Even  in  his  own  house,  the  lower  halves 
of  the  windows  were  covered  with  green 
paper  on  account  of  the  bad  men  who 
might,  if  allowed  clear  view,  fire  into 
peaceful  drawing-rooms  and  comfortable 
bedrooms.  Certainly,  beyond  the  river, 
which  was  the  end  of  all  the  earth,  lived 
the  bad  men.  And  here  was  Major 
Allardyce's  big  girl,  Coppy's  property, 
preparing  to  venture  into  their  borders! 
What  would  Coppy  say  if  anything  hap- 
pened to  her?  If  the  goblins  ran  off  with 
her  as  they  did  with  Curdie's  princess? 
She  must  at  all  hazards  be  turned  back. 

The  house  was  still.  Wee  Willie 
Winkie  reflected  for  a  moment  on  the  very 
terrible  wrath  of  his  father;  and  then — 
broke  his  arrest!     It  was  a  crime  unspeak- 


WEE    WILLIE    WINKIE.  2  I 

able.  -The  low  sun  threw  his  shadow, 
very  large  and  very  black,  on  the  trim 
garden-paths,  as  he  went  down  to  the  sta- 
bles and  ordered  his  pony.  It  seemed  to 
him,  in  the  hush  of  the  dawn,  that  all 
the  big  world  had  been  bidden  to  stand 
still  and  look  at  Wee  Willie  Winkie 
guilty  of  mutiny.  The  drowsy  groom 
handed  him  his  mount,  and,  since  the  one 
great  sin  made  all  others  insignificant, 
Wee  Willie  Winkie  said  that  he  was 
going  to  ride  over  to  Coppy  Sahib,  and 
went  out  at  a  foot-pace,  stepping  on  the 
soft  mold  of  the  flower-borders. 

The  devastating  track  of  the  pony's  feet 
was  the  last  misdeed  that  cut  him  off  from 
all  sympathy  of  humanity.  He  turned 
into  the  road,  leaned  forward,  and  rode  as 
fast  as  the  pony  could  put  foot  to  the 
ground,  in  the  direction  of  the  river. 

But  the  liveliest  of  twelve-two  ponies 


22  WEE   WILLIE    WINKIE. 

can  do  little  ao-ainst  the  long-  canter  of  a 
waler.  Miss  Allardyce  was  far  ahead,  had 
passed  through  the  crops,  beyond  the 
police-post,  when  all  the  guards  were 
asleep,  and  her  mount  was  scattering  the 
pebbles  of  the  river-bed  as  Wee  Willie 
Winkie  left  the  cantonment  and  Brit- 
ish India  behind  him.  Bowed  forward 
and  still  flogging,  Wee  Willie  Winkie 
shot  into  Afghan  territory,  and  could  just 
see  Miss  Allardyce,  a  black  speck,  flicker- 
ing across  the  stony  plain.  The  reason  of 
her  wandering  was  simple  enough.  Coppy, 
in  a  tone  of  too  hastily  assumed  authority, 
had  told  her  overnight  that  she  must  not 
ride  out  by  the  river.  And  she  had  gone 
to  prove  her  own  spirit  and  teach  Coppy 
a  lesson. 

Almost  at  the  foot  of  the  inhospitable 
hills,  Wee  Willie  Winkie  saw  the  waler 
blunder  and   come  down   heavily.     Miss 


WEE    WILLIE    WINKIE.  23 

Allardyce  struggled  clear,  but  her  ankle 
had  been  severely  twisted,  and  she  could 
not  stand.  Having-  thus  demonstrated 
her  spirit,  she  wept  copiously,  and  was 
surprised  by  the  apparition  of  a  white, 
wide-eyed  child  in  khaki,  on  a  nearly  spent 
pony. 

"Are  you  badly  —  badly  hurted?" 
shouted  Wee  Willie  Winkie,  as  soon  as 
he  was  within  range.  "  You  didn't  ought 
to  be  here." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Miss  Allardyce, 
ruefully,  ignoring  the  reproof.  "  Good 
gracious,  child,  what  are  you-  doing  here?" 

"  You  said  you  was  going  acwoss  ve 
wiver,"  panted  Wee  Willie  Winkie,  throw- 
ing himself  off  his  pony.  "  And  nobody 
— not  even  Coppy — must  go  acwoss  ve 
wiver,  and  I  came  after  you  ever  so  hard; 
but  you  wouldn't  stop,  and  now  you've 
hurted  yourself,  and  Coppy  will  be  angwy 


24  WEE    WILLIE    WINKIE. 

wiv  me,  and — I've  bwoken    my  awwest! 
I've  bwoken  my  awwest!  " 

The  future  colonel  of  the  195th  sat 
down  and  sobbed.  In  spite  of  the  pain  in 
her  ankle,  the  girl  was  moved. 

"  Have  you  ridden  all  the  way  from 
cantonments,  little  man?     What  for?" 

"  You  belonged  to  Coppy.  Coppytold 
me  so!"  wailed  Wee  Willie  Winkie,  dis- 
consolately. "I  saw  him  kissing  you,  and 
he  said  he  was  fonder  of  you  van  Bell  or 
ve  Butcha  or  me.  And  so  I  came.  You 
must  get  up  and  come  back.  You  didn't 
ought  to  be  here.  Vis  is  a  bad  place  and 
I've  bwoken  my  awwest." 

"  I  can't  move,  Winkie,"  said  Miss 
Allardyce,  with  a  groan.  "  I've  hurt  my 
foot.     What  shall  I  do?  " 

She  showed  a  readiness  to  weep  afresh, 
which  steadied  Wee  Willie  Winkie,  who 
had  been  brought  up  to  believe  that  tears 


WEE    WILLIE    WINKIE.  2$ 

were  the  depth  of  unmanliness.  Still, 
when  one  is  as  great  a  sinner  as  Wee 
Willie  Winkie,  even  a  man  may  be  per- 
mitted to  break  down. 

"  Winkie,"  said  Miss  Allardyce,  "  when 
you've  rested  a  little,  ride  back  and  tell 
them  to  send  out  something  to  carry  me 
back  in.      It  hurts  fearfully." 

The  child  sat  still  for  a  little  time,  and 
Miss  Allardyce  closed  her  eyes;  the  pain 
was  nearly  making  her  faint.  She  was 
roused  by  Wee  Willie  Winkie  tying  up 
the  reins  on  his  pony's  neck,  and  setting  it 
free  with  a  vicious  cut  of  his  whip  that 
made  it  whicker.  The  little  animal  headed 
toward  the  cantonments. 

"  Oh,  Winkie!     What  are  you  doing?  " 

"Hush!"  said  Wee  Willie  Winkie. 
"  Vere's  a  man  coming — one  of  ve  bad 
men.  I  must  stay  wiv  you.  My  faver 
says  a  man  must  always  look  after  a  girl. 


26  WEE    WILLIE    WINKIE. 

Jack  will  go  home,  and  ven  vey'll  come 
and  look  for  us.     Vat's  why  I  let  him  go." 

Not  one  man  but  two  or  three  had 
appeared  from  behind  the  rocks  of  the 
hills,  and  the  heart  of  Wee  Willie  Winkie 
sunk  within  him,  for  just  in  this  manner 
were  the  goblins  wont  to  steal  out  and 
vex  Curdie's  soul.  Thus  had  they  played 
in  Curdie's  garden — he  had  seen  the  pict- 
ure— and  thus  had  they  frightened  the 
princess'  nurse.  He  heard  them  talking 
to  each  other,  and  recognized  with  joy 
the  bastard  Pushto  that  he  had  picked  up 
from  one  of  his  father's  grooms  lately  dis- 
missed. People  who  spoke  that  tongue 
could  not  be  the  bad  men.  They  were 
only  natives  after  all. 

They  came  up  to  the  bowlders  on  which 
Miss  Allardyce's  horse  had  blundered. 

Then  rose  from  the  rock  Wee  Willie 
Winkie,  child  of  the  dominant  race,  aged 


WEE    WILLIE    WINKIE.  2*] 

six  and  three-quarters,  and  said,  briefly 
and  emphatically,  "Jaof  "  The  pony  had 
crossed  the  river-bed. 

The  men  laughed,  and  laughter  from 
the  natives  was  the  one  thing-  Wee  Willie 
Winkie  could  not  tolerate.  He  asked 
them  what  they  wanted  and  why  they  did 
not  depart.  Other  men,  with  most  evil 
faces  and  crooked-stocked  guns,  crept  out 
of  the  shadows  of  the  hills,  till  soon  Wee 
Willie  Winkie  was  face  to  face  with  an 
audience  some  twenty  strong.  Miss  Allar- 
dyce  screamed. 

"  Who  are  you?"  said  one  of  the  men. 

"  I  am  the  Colonel  Sahib's  son,  and 
my  order  is  that  you  go  at  once.  You 
black  men  are  frightening  the  Miss  Sahib. 
One  of  you  must  run  into  cantonments 
and  take  the  news  that  the  Miss  Sahib  has 
hurt  herself,  and  that  the  Colonel's  son  is 
here  with  her." 


28  WEE    WILLIE    WINKIE. 

u  Put  our  feet  into  the  trap?"  was  the 
laughing  reply.    "  Hear  this  boy's  speech!" 

"  Say  that  I  sent  you — I,  the  Colonel's 
son.     They  will  give  you  money." 

"  What  is  the  use  of  this  talk?  Take 
up  the  child  and  the  girl,  and  we  can  at 
least  ask  for  the  ransom.  Ours  are  the  vil- 
lages on  the  heights,"  said  a  voice  in  the 
background. 

These  were  the  bad  men — worse  than 
the  goblins — and  it  needed  all  Wee  Willie 
Winkie's  training  to  prevent  him  from 
bursting  into  tears.  But  he  felt  that  to 
cry  before  a  native,  excepting  only  his 
mother's  ayah,  would  be  an  infamy  greater 
than  any  mutiny.  Moreover,  he,  as  future 
colonel  of  the  195th,  had  that  grim  regi- 
ment at  his  back. 

"  Are  you  going  to  carry  us  away?  " 
said  Wee  Willie  Winkie,  very  blanched 
and  uncomfortable. 


WEE    WILLIE    WINKIE.  20. 

"  Yes,  my  little  Sahib  Bahadur,"  said 
the  tallest  of  the  men,  ''and  eat  you  after- 
ward." 

"  That  is  child's  talk,"  said  Wee  Willie 
Winkie.     "  Men  do  not  eat  men." 

A  yell  of  laughter  interrupted  him,  but 
he  went  on,  firmly:  "And  if  you  do  carry 
us  away,  I  tell  you  that  all  my  regiment 
will  come  up  in  a  day  and  kill  you  all  with- 
out leaving  one.  Who  will  take  my  mes- 
sage to  the  Colonel  Sahib?  " 

Speech  in  any  vernacular — and  Wee 
Willie  Winkie  had  a  colloquial  acquaint- 
ance with  three — was  easy  to  the  boy  who 
could  not  yet  manage  his  rs  and  tJis 
aright. 

Another  man  joined  the  conference, 
crying:  "  Oh,  foolish  men!  What  this 
babe  says  is  true.  He  is  the  heart's 
heart  of  those  white  troops.  For  the 
sake  of  peace,  let  them  go  both;  for,  if  he 


30  WEE    WILLIE    WINKIE. 

be  taken,  the  regiment  will  break  loose 
and  gut  the  valley.  Our  villages  are  in 
the  valley,  and  we  shall  not  escape.  That 
regiment  are  devils.  They  broke  Khoda 
Yar's  breast-bone  with  kicks  when  he  tried 
to  take  the  rifles;  and,  if  we  touch  this 
child,  they  will  fire  and  rape  and  plunder 
for  a  month,  till  nothing  remains.  Better 
to  send  a  man  back  to  take  the  message 
and  get  a  reward.  I  say  that  this  child  is 
their  god,  and  that  will  spare  none  of  us, 
nor  our  women,  if  we  harm  him.' 

It  was  Din  Mahommed,  the  dismissed 
groom  of  the  Colonel,  who  made  the 
diversion,  and  an  angry  and  heated  dis- 
cussion followed.  Wee  Willie  Winkie, 
standing  over  Miss  Allardyce,  waited  the 
upshot.  Surely  his  "  wegiment,"  his  own 
"  wegiment,"would  not  desert  him  if  they 
knew  of  his  extremity. 


WEE    WILLIE    WINKIE.  3 1 

The  riderless  pony  brought  the  news  to 
the  195th,  though  there  had  been  con- 
sternation in  the  Colonel's  household  for 
an  hour  before.  The  little  beast  came  in 
through  the  parade-ground  in  front  of  the 
main  barracks, where  the  men  were  settling 
down  to  play  spoil-five  till  the  afternoon. 
Devlin,  the  color-sergeant  of  E  Com- 
pany, glanced  at  the  empty  saddle  and 
tumbled  through  the  barrack-rooms,  kick- 
ing up  each  room  corporal  as  he  passed. 
c<  Up,  ye  beggars!  There's  something 
happened  to  the  Colonel's  son,"  he 
shouted. 

"He  couldn't  fall  off!  S'elp  me,  'e 
couldrit  fall  off,"  blubbered  a  drummer- 
boy.  "  Go  an'  hunt  acrost  the  river.  He's 
over  there  if  he's  anywhere,  an'  may  be 
those  Pathans  have  got  'im.  For  the 
love  o'  Gawd,  don't  look  for  'im  in  the 
nullahs!     Let's  go  over  the  river." 


32  WEF    WILLIE    WINKIE. 

"  There's  sense  in  Mott  yet,"  said  Dev- 
lin. "  E  Company,  double  out  to  the 
river — sharp!  " 

So  E  Company,  in  its  shirt-sleeves 
mainly,  doubled  for  the  dear  life,  and  in 
the  rear  toiled  the  perspiring  sergeant, 
adjuring  it  to  double  yet  faster.  The 
cantonment  was  alive  with  the  men  of  the 
195th  hunting  for  Wee  Willie  Winkie, 
and  the  Colonel  finally  overtook  E  Com- 
pany, far  too  exhausted  to  swear,  strug- 
gling in  the  pebbles  of  the  river-bed. 

Up  the  hill  under  which  Wee  Willie 
Winkie's  bad  men  were  discussing  the 
wisdom  of  carrying  off  the  child  and  the 
girl,  a  lookout  fired  two  shots. 

."What  have  I  said? "  shouted  Din  Ma- 
hommed.  "  There  is  the  warning!  The 
pulton  are  out  already  and  are  coming 
across  the  plain!  Getaway!  Let  us  not 
be  seen  with  the  boy!  " 


WEE    WILLIE    WINKIE.  33 

The  men  waited  for  an  instant,  and 
then,  as  another  shot  was  fired,  withdrew 
into  the  hills  silently  as  they  had  ap- 
peared. 

"  The  wegiment  is  coming,"  said  Wee 
Willie  Winkie,  confidently,  to  Miss  Allar- 
dyce,  "  and  it's  all  wight.     Don't  cry!" 

He  needed  the  advice  himself,  for,  ten 
minutes  later,  when  his  father  came  up, 
he  was  weeping  bitterly  with  his  head  in 
Miss  Allardyce's  lap. 

And  the  men  of  the  195th  carried  him 
home  with  shouts  and  rejoicings;  and 
Coppy,  who  had  ridden  a  horse  into  a 
lather,  met  him,  and,  to  his  intense  dis- 
gust, kissed  him  openly  in  the  presence  of 
the  men. 

But  there  was  balm  for  his  dignity.  His 
father  assured  him  that  not  only  would 
the  breaking  of  arrest  be  condoned, 
but  that  the  good-conduct   badge   would 


34  WEE    WILLIE    WINKIE. 

be  restored  as  soon  as  his  mother  could 
sew  it  on  his  blouse-sleeve.  Miss  Allar- 
dyce  had  told  the  Colonel  a  story  that 
made  him  proud  of  his  son. 

"  She  belonged  to  you,  Coppy,"  said 
Wee  Willie  Winkie,  indicating  Miss 
Allardyce  with  a  grimy  forefinger.  "I 
knew  she  didn't  ought  to  go  acwoss  ve 
wiver,  and  I  knew  ve  wegiment  would 
come  to  me  if  I  sent  Jack  home." 

"You're  a  hero,  Winkie,"  said  Coppy — 
"  2. pukka  hero!" 

"  I  don't  know  what  vat  means,"  said 
Wee  Willie  Winkie;  "  but  you  mustn't 
call  me  Winkie  any  no  more.  I'm  Percival 
Will'am  Will'ams." 

And  in  this  manner  did  Wee  Willie 
Winkie  enter  into  his  manhood. 


BAA  BAA,   BLACK  SHEEP. 


Baa  baa,  black  sheep, 
Have  you  any  wool? 
Yes,  sir;  yes,  sir;  three  bags  full. 
One  for  the  master,  one  for  the  dame — 
None  for  the  little  boy  that  cries  down  the  lane. 

Nursery  Rhyme. 


THE  FIRST  BAG. 

"When  I  was  in  my  father's  house,  I  was  in  a 
better  place." 

They  were  putting  Punch  to  bed — the 
ayah  and  the  hamal  and  Meeta,  the  big 
Surti  boy  with  the  red-and-gold  turban. 
Judy,  already  tucked  inside  her  mosquito- 
curtains,  was  nearly  asleep.  Punch  had 
been  allowed  to  stay  up  for  dinner.  Many 
privileges  had  been  accorded  to  Punch 
within  the  last  ten  days,  and  a  greater 

<85> 


36  BAA    BAA,   BLACK    SHEEP. 

kindness  from  the  people  of  his  world  had 
encompassed  his  ways  and  works,  which 
were  mostly  obstreperous.  He  sat  on 
the  edge  of  his  bed  and  swung  his  bare 
legs  defiantly. 

""Punch-da 6a  going  to  bye-lo?"  said  the 
ayah,  suggestively. 

"  No,"  said  Punch.  "  Punch-6a6a  wants 
the  story  about  the  Ranee  that  was  turned 
into  a  tiger.  Meeta  must  tell  it,  and  the 
hamal  shall  hide  behind  the  door  and 
make  tiger-noises  at  the  proper  time." 

"  But  ]\\6y-baba  will  wake  up,"  said  the 
ayah. 

"]udy-6a6a  is  waking,"  piped  a  small 
voice  from  the  mosquito-curtains.  "  There 
was  a  Ranee  that  lived  at  Delhi.  Go  on, 
Meeta,"  and  she  fell  fast  asleep  again 
while  Meeta  began  the  story. 

Never  had  Punch  secured  the  telling  of 
that  tale  with  so  little  opposition.     He 


BAA    BAA,   BLACK    SHEEP.  $J 

reflected  for  a  long  time.  The  hernial 
made  the  tiger-noises  in  twenty  different 
keys. 

"'Top!"  said  Punch,  authoritatively. 
"  Why  doesn't  papa  come  in  and  say  he  is 
going  to  give  me  put-put?  " 

"  "Punch-data  is  going  away,"  said  the 
ayah.  "In  another  week  there  will  be  no 
Punch-baba  to  pull  my  hair  any  more." 
She  sighed  softly,  for  the  boy  of  the 
household  was  very  dear  to  her  heart. 

"  Up  the  Ghauts  in  a  train?"  said 
Punch,  standing  on  his  bed.  "  All  the 
way  to  Nassick  where  the  Ranee  tiger 
lives?" 

"  Not  to  Nassick  this  year,  little  sahib," 
said  Meeta,  lifting  him  on  his  shoulder. 
"  Down  to  the  sea  where  the  cocoanuts 
are  thrown,  and  across  the  sea  in  a  big 
ship.  Will  you  take  Meeta  with  you  to 
Belait?"    , 


38  BAA    BAA,   BLACK    SHEEP. 

"  You  shall  all  come,"  said  Punch, 
from  the  height  of  Meeta's  strong  arms. 
"  Meeta,  and  the  ayah,  and  the  kamal,  and 
Bhini-in-the-garden,  and  the  salaam-cap- 
tain-sahib-snake-man." 

There  was  no  mockery  in  Meeta's  voice 
when  he  replied:  "Great  is  the  sahib's 
favor,"  and  laid  the  little  man  down  in  the 
bed,  while  the  ayah,  sitting  in  the  moon- 
light at  the  door-way,  lulled  him  to  sleep 
with  an  interminable  canticle  such  as  they 
sing  in  the  Roman  Catholic  Church  at 
Parel.  Punch  curled  himself  into  a  ball 
and  slept. 

Next  morning,  Judy  shouted  that 
there  was  a  rat  in  the  nursery;  and  thus 
he  forgot  to  tell  her  the  wonderful 
news.  It  did  not  much  matter,  for 
Judy  was  only  three  and  she  would  not 
have  understood.  But  Punch  was  five, 
and    he   knew   that    going   to.  England 


BAA    BAA,   BLACK    SHEEP.  39 

would    be    much    nicer    than    a   trip    to 
Nassick. 

"^p"  *T*  ^»  ^P  T*  *^ 

And  papa  and  mamma  sold  the 
brougham  and  the  piano,  and  stripped 
the  house,  and  curtailed  the  allowance  of 
crockery  for  the  daily  meals,  and  took 
long  counsel  together  over  a  bundle  of 
letters  bearing  the  Rocklington  postmark. 

"The  worst  of  it  is  that  one  can't  be 
certain  of  anything,"  said  papa,  pulling  his 
mustache.  "  The  letters  in  themselves 
are  excellent,  and  the  terms  are  moderate 
enough." 

"The  worst  of  it  is  that  the  children 
will  grow  up  away  from  me,"  thought 
mamma;  but  she  did  not  say  it  aloud. 

"We  are  only  one  case  among  hun- 
dreds," said  papa,  bitterly.  "You  shall 
go  home  again  in  five  years,  dear." 

"Punch   will   be   ten    then — and  Judy 


4-0  BAA    BAA,   BLACK    SHEEP. 

eight.  Oh,  how  long  and  long  and  long 
the  time  will  be!  And  we  have  to  leave 
them  among  strangers." 

"Punch  is  a  cheery  little  chap.  He's 
sure  to  make  friends  wherever  he  goes." 

"And  who  could  help  loving  my  Ju?" 

They  were  standing  over  the  cots  in 
the  nursery  late  at  night,  and  I  think  that 
mamma  was  crying  softly.  After  papa 
had  gone  away,  she  knelt  down  by  the 
side  of  Judy's  cot.  The  ayah  saw  her  and 
put  up  a  prayer  that  the  memsahib  might 
never  find  the  love  of  her  children  taken 
away  from  her  and  given  to  a  stranger. 

Mamma's  own  prayer  was  a  slightly 
illogical  one.  Summarized  it  ran:  "Let 
strangers  love  my  children,  and  be  as  good 
to  them  as  I  should  be;  but  let  me  pre- 
serve their  love  and  their  confidence  for- 
ever and  ever.  Amen."  Punch  scratched 
himself  in  his  sleep,  and  Judy  moaned  a 


BAA    BAA,   BLACK    SHEEP.  41 

little.  That  seems  to  be  the  only  answer 
to  the  prayer;  and,  next  day,  they  all 
went  down  to  the  sea,  and  there  was  a 
scene  at  the  Apollo  Bunder  when  Punch 
discovered  that  Meeta  could  not  come, 
too,  and  Judy  learned  that  the  ayah  must 
be  left  behind.  But  Punch  found  a 
thousand  fascinating  things  in  the  rope, 
block,  and  steam-pipe  line  on  the  big  P. 
and  O.  steamer  long  before  Meeta  and 
the  ayah  had  dried  their  tears. 

"  Come  back,  Punch-baba,"  said  the 
ayah. 

"Come  back,"  said  Meeta,  "and  be  a 
Burr  a  sahib." 

"Yes,"  said  Punch,  lifted  up  in  his 
father's  arms  to  wave  good-bye.  "Yes,  I 
will  come  back,  and  I  will  be  a  Burra 
sahib  Baha  dur!  " 

At  the  end  of  the  first  day,  Punch 
demanded  to  be  set  down   in   England, 


42  BAA    BAA,   BLACK    SHEEP. 

which  he  was  certain  must  be  close  at 
hand.  Next  day,  there  was  a  merry 
breeze,  and  Punch  was  very  sick.  "  When 
I  come  back  to  Bombay,"  said  Punch,  on 
his  recovery,  "  I  will  come  by  the  road — 
in  a  hroom-gharrt.  This  is  a  very 
naughty  ship." 

The  Swedish  boatswain  consoled  him, 
and  he  modified  his  opinions  as  the 
voyage  went  on.  There  was  so  much 
to  see,  and  to  handle,  and  ask  questions 
about  that  Punch  nearly  forgot  the 
ayah,  and  Meeta,  and  the  hamal,  and 
with  difficulty  remembered  a  few  words 
of  the  Hindoostanee,  once  his  second 
speech. 

But  Judy  was  much  worse.  The  day 
before  the  steamer  reached  Southampton, 
mamma  asked  her  if  she  would  not  like  to 
see  the  ayah  again.  Judy's  blue  eyes 
turned  to   the   stretch   of   sea   that   had 


BAA    BAA,   BLACK    SHEEP.  43 

swallowed  all  her  tiny  past,  and  she  said: 
"Ayah!     What  ayah?"  -    _ 

Mamma  cried  over  her  and  Punch  mar- 
veled.  It  was  then  that  he  Jieard,  for  the 
first  time,  mamma's  passionate  appeal  to 
him  never  to  let  Judy  forget  mamma. 
Seeing  that  Judy  was  young,  ridiculously 
young,  and  that  mamma,  every  evening 
for  four  weeks  past,  had  come  into  the 
cabin  to  sing  her  and  Punch  to  sleep  with 
a  mysterious  rune  that  he  called  "  Sonny,' 
my  soul,"  Punch  could  not  understand 
what  mamma  meant.  But  he  strove  to 
do  his  duty;  for,  the  moment  mamma  left 
the  cabin,  he  said  to  Judy: 

"Ju,  you  remember  mamma?" 

"'Torse  I  do,"  said  Judy. 

"Then  always  remember  mamma,  else 
I  won't  give  you  the  paper  ducks  that 
the  red-haired  Captain  Sahib  cut  out  for 


5> 

me. 


44  BAA    BAA,   BLACK    SHEEP. 

So  Judy  promised  always  to  "bemem- 
ber  mamma." 

Many  and  many  a  time  was  mamma's 
command  laid  upon  Punch,  and  papa 
would  say  the  same  thing  with  an  insist- 
ence that  awed  the  child. 

"  You  must  make  haste  and  learn  to 
write,  Punch,"  said  papa,  "and  then  you'll 
be  able  to  write  letters  to  us  in  Bombay." 

"  I'll  come  into  your  room,"  said  Punch, 
and  papa  choked. 

Papa  and  mamma  were  always  choking 
in  those  days.  If  Punch  took  Judy  to 
task  for  not  "  bemembering,"  they  choked. 
If  Punch  sprawled  on  the  sofa  in  the 
Southampton  lodging-house  and  sketched 
his  future  in  purple  and  gold,  they  choked; 
and  so  they  did  if  Judy  put  up  her  mouth 
for  a  kiss. 

Through  many  days  all  four  were  vaga- 
bonds on  the  face   of  the  earth—Punch 


BAA    BAA,   BLACK    SHEEP.  45 

with  no  one  to  give  orders  to,  Judy  too 
young  for  anything,  and  papa  and  mamma 
grave,  distracted,  and  choking. 

"Where,"  demanded  Punch,  wearied, 
of  a  loathsome  contrivance  on  four  wheels 
with  a  mound  of  luggage  atop — "where 
is  our  broom-gharri?  This  thing  talks 
so  much  that  /  can't  talk.  Where  is  our 
own  broom-gharri?  When  I  was  at 
Bandstand,  before  we  corned  away,  I 
asked  Inverarity  Sahib  why  he  was  sitting 
in  it,  and  he  said  it  was  his  own.  And  I 
said,  '  I  will  give  it  you  ' — I  like  Inverarity 
Sahib — and  I  said,  '  Can  you  put  your  legs 
through  the  pully-wag  loops  by  the  win- 
dows?' And  Inverarity  Sahib  said  'No,' 
and  laughed.  /  can  put  my  legs  through 
the  pully-wag  loops.  I  can  put  my  legs 
through  these  pully-wag  loops.  Look! 
Oh,  mamma's  crying  again!  I  didn't 
know.     I  wasn't  not  to  do  so" 


46  BAA    BAA,   BLACK    SHEEP. 

Punch  drew  his  legs  out  of  the  loops  of 
the  four-wheeler;  the  door  opened  and  he 
slid  to  the  earth,  in  a  cascade  of  parcels, 
at  the  door  of  an  austere  little  villa  whose 
gates  bore  the  legend  "  Downe  Lodge." 
Punch  gathered  himself  together  and  eyed 
the  house  with  disfavor.  It  stood  on  a 
sandy  road,  and  a  cold  wind  tickled  his 
knickerbockered  legs. 

11  Let  us  go  away,"  said  Punch.  "  This 
is  not  a  pretty  place." 

But  mamma  and  papa  and.  Judy  had 
quitted  the  cab,  and  all  the  luggage  was 
being  taken  into  the  house.  At  the  door- 
step stood  a  woman  in  black,  and  she 
smiled  largely,  with  dry,  chapped  lips. 
Behind  her  was  a  man — big,  bony,  gray, 
and  lame  as  to  one  leg — behind  him  a  boy 
of  twelve,  black-haired  and  oily  in  appear- 
ance. Punch  surveyed  the  trio,  and 
advanced  without   fear,  as  he  had  been 


BAA    BAA,   BLACK    SHEEP.  47 

accustomed  to  do  in  Bombay  when  callers 
came  and  he  happened  to  be  playing  in 
the  veranda. 

"How  do  you  do?"  said  he.  "I  am 
Punch."  But  they  were  all  looking  at 
the  luggage — all  except  the  gray  man, 
who  shook  hands  with  Punch  and  said  he 
was  "a  smart  little  fellow."  There  was 
much  running  about  and  banging  of  boxes, 
and  Punch  curled  himself  up  on  the  sofa 
in  the  dining-room  and  considered 
things. 

"  I  don't  like  these  people,"  said  Punch. 
"  But  never  mind.  We'll  go  away  soon. 
We  have  always  went  away  soon  from 
everywhere.  I  wish  we  was  gone  back  to 
Bombay  soon." 

The  wish  bore  no  fruit.  For  six  days 
mamma  wept  at  intervals,  and  showed  the 
woman  in  black  all  Punch's  clothes — a 
liberty    which    Punch     resented.      "  But 


48  BAA    BAA,  BLACK    SHEEP. 

pYaps  she's  a  new  white  ayak"  he 
thought.  "  I'm  to  call  her  Antirosa,  but 
she  doesn't  call  me  sahib.  She  says  just 
Punch,"  he  confided  to  Judy.  "What  is 
Antirosa?" 

Judy  didn't  know.  Neither  she  nor 
Punch  had  heard  anything  of  an  animal 
called  an  aunt.  Their  world  had  been 
papa  and  mamma,  who  knew  everything, 
permitted  everything,  and  loved  every- 
body— even  Punch  when  he  used  to  go 
into  the  garden  at  Bombay  and  fill  his 
nails  with  mold  after  the  weekly  nail-cut- 
ting, because,  as  he  explained,  between 
two  strokes  of  the  slipper,  to  his  sorely 
tried  father,  his  fingers  "  felt  so  new  at 
the  ends." 

In  an  undefined  way,  Punch  judged  it 
advisable  to  keep  both  parents  between 
himself  and  the  woman  in  black  and  the 
boy  in  black  hair.     He  did  not  approve 


BAA    BAA,   BLACK    SHEEP.  49 

of  them.  He  liked  the  gray  man,  who 
had  expressed  a  wish  to  be  called 
"Uncleharri."  They  nodded  at  each 
other  when  they  met,  and  the  gray  man 
showed  him  a  little  ship  with  rigging  that 
took  up  and  down. 

"  She  is  a  model  of  the  Brisk — the  little 
Brisk  that  was  sore  exposed  that  day  at 
Navarino."  The  gray  man  hummed  the 
last  words  and  fell  into  a  reverie.  "  I'll 
tell  you  about  Navarino,  Punch,  when 
we  go  for  walks  together;  and  you 
mustn't  touch  the  ship,  because  she's  the 
Brisk." 

Long  before  that  walk,  the  first  of 
many,  was  taken,  they  roused  Punch  and 
Judy  in  the  chill  dawn  of  a  February 
morning  to  say  good-bye,  and  of  all  people 
in  the  wide  earth,  to  papa  and  mamma — 
both  crying  this  time.     Punch  was  very 

sleepy,  and  Judy  was  cross. 

4 


50  BAA    BAA,   BLACK    SHEEP. 

"  Don't  forget  us,"  pleaded  mamma. 
"  Oh,  my  little  son,  don't  forget  us,  and 
see  that  Judy  remembers  us,  too." 

"I've  told  Judy  to  bemember,"  said 
Punch,  wriggling,  for  his  father's  beard 
tickled  his  neck.  "  I've  told  Judy — ten — 
forty — 'leven  thousand  times.  But  Ju's 
so  young — quite  a  baby — isn't  she?" 

"Yes,"  said  papa,  "quite  a  baby,  and 
you  must  be  good  to  Judy,  and  make 
haste  to  learn  to  write  and — and  — 
and — " 

Punch  was  back  in  his  bed  again.  Judy 
was  fast  asleep,  and  there  was  the  rattle 
of  a  cab  below.  Papa  and  mamma  had 
gone  away.  Not  to  Nassick;  that  was 
across  the  sea.  To  some  place  much 
nearer,  of  course,  and  equally  of  course 
they  would  return.  They  came  back  after 
dinner-parties,  and  papa  had  come  back 
after  he  had  been  to  a  place  called  "  The 


BAA    BAA,   BLACK    SHEEP.  5 1 

Snows,"  and  mamma  with  him,  to  Punch 
and  Judy  at  Mrs.  Inverarity's  house  in 
Marine  Lines.  Assuredly  they  would 
come  back  again.  So  Punch  fell  asleep 
till  the  true  morning,  when  the  black- 
haired  boy  met  him  with  the  information 
that  papa  and  mamma  had  gone  to  Bom- 
bay, and  that  he  and  Judy  were  to  stay  at 
Downe  Lodge  "  forever."  Antirosa,  tear- 
fully appealed  to  for  a  contradiction,  said 
that  Harry  had  spoken  the  truth,  and  that 
it  behooved  Punch  to  fold  up  his  clothes 
neatly  on  going  to  bed.  Punch  went 
out  and  wept  bitterly  with  Judy,  into 
whose  fair  head  he  had  driven  some  ideas 
of  the  meaning  of  separation. 

When  a  matured  man  discovers  that  he 
has  been  deserted  by  Providence,  de- 
prived of  his  God,  and  cast  without  help, 
comfort,  or  sympathy,  upon  a  world  which 
is  new  and  strange  to  him,  his  despair, 


52  BAA    BAA,  BLACK    SHEEP. 

which  may  find  expression  in  evil-living, 
the  writing  of  his  experiences,  or  the  more 
satisfactory  diversion  of  suicide,  is  gener- 
ally supposed  to  be  impressive.  A  child, 
under  exactly  similar  circumstances,  as  far 
as  its  knowledge  goes,  can  not  very  well 
curse  God  and  die.  It  howls  till  its  nose 
is  red,  its  eyes  are  sore,  and  its  head  aches. 
Punch  and  Judy,  through  no  fault  of  their 
own,  had  lost  all  their  world.  They  sat  in 
the  hall  and  cried;  the  black-haired  boy 
looking  on  from  afar. 

The  model  of  the  ship  availed  nothing, 
though  the  gray  man  assured  Punch  that 
he  might  pull  the  rigging  up  and  down  as 
much  as  he  pleased;  and  Judy  was  prom- 
ised free  entry  into  the  kitchen.  They 
wanted  papa  and  mamma  gone  to  Bombay 
beyond  the  seas,  and  their  grief,  while  it 
lasted,  was  without  remedy. 

When  the  tears  ceased,  the  house  was 


BAA    BAA,   BLAPFC    SHFF.P.  53 

very  still.  Antirosa  had  decided  it  was 
much  better  to  let  the  children  "  have 
their  cry  out,"  and  the  boy  had  gone  to 
school.  Punch  raised  his  head  from  the 
floor  and  sniffled  mournfully.  Judy  was 
nearly  asleep.  Three  short  years  had  not 
taught  her  how  to  bear  sorrow  with  full 
knowledge.  There  was  a  distant  dull  boom 
in  the  air — a  repeated  heavy  thud.  Punch 
knew  that  sound  in  Bombay  in  the  mon- 
soon. It  was  the  sea — the  sea  that  must 
be  traversed  before  any  one  could  get  to 
Bombay. 

"Quick,  Ju!"  he  cried,  "we're  close  to 
the  sea.  I  can  hear  it!  Listen!  That's 
where  they've  went.  P'raps  we  can  catch 
them,  if  we  was  in  time.  They  didn't 
mean  to  go  without  us.  They've  only 
forgot." 

"Iss,"  said  Judy.  "They've  only  for- 
gotted.      Less  go  to  the  sea." 


54  BAA    BAA,   BLACK    SHEEP. 

The  hall  door  was  open  and  so  was  the 
garden  gate. 

"  It's  very,  very  big,  this  place,"  he  said, 
lopking  cautiously  down  the  road,  "and 
we  will  get  lost;  but  I  will  find  a  man  and 
order  him  to  take  me  back  to  my  house 
— like  I  did  in  Bombay." 

He  took  Judy  by  the  hand,  and 
the  two  fled  hatless  in  the  direction 
of  the  sound  of  the  sea.  JDowne  Villa 
was  almost  the  last  of  a  range  of  newly 
built  houses  running  out,  through  a  chaos 
of  brick-mounds,  to  a  heath  where  gyp- 
sies occasionally  camped,  and  where  the 
Garrison  Artillery  of  Rocklington  prac- 
ticed. There  were  few  people  to  be 
seen,  and  the  children  might  have  been 
taken  for  those  of  the  soldiery  who 
ranged  far.  Half  an  hour  the  wearied 
little  legs  tramped  across  heath,  potato- 
field,  and  sand-dune. 


BAA    BA£,   BLACK    SHEEP.  55 

"  I'se  so  tired,"  said  Judy,  "  and  mam- 
ma will  be  angry." 

"  Mamma's  never  angry.  I  suppose  she 
is  waiting  at  the  sea  now  while  papa  gets 
tickets.  We'll  find  them  and  go  along 
with.  Ju,  you  mustn't  sit  down.  Only  a. 
little  more  and  we'll  come  to  the  sea.  Ju, 
if  you  sit  down  I'll  thmack  you!"  said 
Punch. 

They  climbed  another  dune,  and  came 
upon  the  great  gray  sea  at  low  tide. 
Hundreds  of  crabs  were  scuttling  about 
the  beach,  but  there  was  no  trace  of  papa 
and  mamma,  not  even  of  a  ship  upon  the 
waters — nothing  but  sand  and  mud  for 
miles  and  miles. 

And  "Uncleharri "  found  them  by 
chance — very  muddy  and  very  forlorn — 
Punch  dissolved  in  tears,  but  trying  to 
divert  Judy  with  an  "  ickle  trab,"  and 
Judy  wailing  to  the   pitiless    horizon  for 


56  BAA    BAA,   BLACK    SHEEP. 


"  mamma,    mamma!  "   and  again    "  mam- 
ma! 


I" 


THE   SECOND  BAG. 

Ah,  well-a-day,  for  we  are  souls  bereaved! 
Of  all  the  creatures  under  heaven's  wide  scope 
We  are  most  hopeless,  who  had  once  most  hope, 
And  most  beliefless,  who  had  most  believed. 

The  City  of  Dreadful  Night. 

All  this  time  not  a  word  about  Black 
Sheep.  He  came  later,  and  Harry,  the 
black-haired  boy,  was  mainly  responsible 
for  his  coming. 

Judy — who  could  help  loving  little  Judy? 
— passed,  by  special  permit,  into  the 
kitchen  and  thence  straight  to  Aunty 
Rosa's  heart.  Harry  was  Aunty  Rosa's 
one  child,  and  Punch  was  the  extra  boy 
about  the  house.  There  was  no  special 
place  for  him  or  his  little  affairs,  and  he 
was   forbidden    to    sprawl    on    sofas   and 


BAA    BAA,   BLACK    SHEEP.  57 

explain  his  ideas  about  the  manufacture 
of  this  world  and  his  hopes  for  his  future. 
Sprawling  was  lazy  and  wore  out  sofas, 
and  little  boys  were  not  expected  to  talk. 
They  were  talked  to,  and  the  talking  to 
was  intended  for  the  benefit  of  their  mor- 
als. As  the  unquestioned  despot  of  the 
house  at  Bombay,  Punch  could  not  quite 
understand  how  he  came  to  be  of  no 
account  in  this  his  new  life. 

Harry  might  reach  across  the  table  and 
take  what  he  wanted;  Judy  might  point 
and  get  what  she  wanted.  Punch  was 
forbidden  to  do  either.  The  gray  man 
was  his  great  hope  and  stand-by  for  many 
months  after  mamma  and  papa  left,  and 
he  had  forgotten  to  tell  Judy  to  "  bemem- 
ber  mamma." 

This  lapse  was  excusable,  because,  in 
the  interval,  he  had  been  introduced  by 
Aunty  Rosa  to  two  very  impressive  things 


58  BAA    BAA,   BLACK    SHEEP. 

— an  abstraction  called  God,  the  intimate 
friend  and  ally  of  Aunty  Rosa,  generally 
believed  to  live  behind  the  kitchen-range, 
because  it  was  hot  there-— and  a  dirty 
brown  book  filled  with  unintelligible  dots 
and  marks.  Punch  was  always  anxious  to 
oblige  everybody.  He,  therefore,  welded 
the  story  of  the  Creation  on  to  what  he 
could  recollect  of  his  Indian  fairy  tales, 
and  scandalized  Aunty  Rosa  by  repeating 
the  result  to  Judy.  It  was  a  sin,  a  griev- 
ous sin,  and  Punch  was  talked  to  for  a 
quarter  of  an  hour.  He  could  not  under- 
stand where  the  iniquity  came  in,  but  was 
careful  not  to  repeat  the  offense,  because 
Aunty  Rosa  told  him  that  God  had  heard 
every  word  he  had  said  and  was  very 
angry.  If  this  were  true,  why  didn't  God 
come  and  say  so,  thought  Punch,  and  dis- 
missed the  matter  from  his  mind.  After- 
ward he  learned  to  know  the  Lord  as  the 


BAA    BAA,   BLACK    SHEEP.  59 

only  thing  in  the  world  more  awful  than 
Aunty  Rosa — as  a  creature  that  stood  in 
the  background  and  counted  the  strokes 
of  the  cane. 

But  the  reading  was,  just  then,  a  much 
more  serious  matter  than  any  creed. 
Aunty  Rosa  sat  him  upon  a  table  and 
told  him  that  A  B  meant  ab. 

"  Why?  "  said  Punch.  "  A  is  a  and  B  is 
bee.      Why  does  A  B  mean  ab?  " 

"  Because  I  tell  you  it  does,"  said  Aunty 
Rosa,  "  and  you've  got  to  say  it."  , 

Punch  said  it  accordingly,  and  for  a 
month,  hugely  against  his  will,  stumbled 
through  the  brown  book,  not  in  the  least 
comprehending  what  it  meant.  But  Uncle 
Harry,  who  walked  much,  and  generally 
alone,  was  wont  to  come  into  the  nursery 
and  suggest  to  Aunty  Rosa  that  Punch 
should  walk  with  him.  He  seldom  spoke, 
but   he  showed    Punch   all    Rocklington, 


60  BAA    BAA,  BLACK    SHEEP. 

from  the  mud-banks  and  the  sand  of  the 
back-bay  to  the  great  harbors  where  ships 
lay  at  anchor,  and  the  dock-yards  where 
the  hammers  are  never  still,  and  the 
marine-store  shops,  and  the  shiny  brass 
counters  in  the  offices  where  Uncle  Harry 
went  once  every  three  months  with  a  slip 
of  blue  paper  and  received  sovereigns  in 
exchange;  for  he  held  a  wound-pension. 
Punch  heard,  too,  from  his  lips,  the  story 
of  the  Battle  of  Navarino,  where  the  sail- 
ors of  the  fleet,  for  three  days  afterward, 
were  deaf  as  posts  and  could  only  sign  to 
each  other.  "That  was  because  of  the 
noise  of  the  guns,"  said  Uncle  Harry, 
"  and  I  have  got  the  wadding  of  a  bullet 
somewhere  inside  me  now." 

Punch  regarded  him  with  curiosity.  He 
had  not  the  least  idea  what  wadding  was, 
and  his  notion  of  a  bullet  was  a  dock-yard 
cannon-ball  bigger   than   his   own    head. 


BAA    BAA,  BLACK    SHEEP.  6 1 

How  could  Uncle  Harry  keep  a  cannon- 
ball  inside  him?  He  was  ashamed  to 
ask,  for  fear  Uncle  Harry  might  be  angry. 
Punch  had  never  known  what  anger — 
real  anger — meant  until  one  terrible  day 
when  Harry  had  taken  his  paint-box  to 
paint  a  boat  with,  and  Punch  had  pro- 
tested with  a  loud  and  lamentable  voice. 
Then  Uncle  Harry  had  appeared  on  the 
scene,  and,  muttering  something  about 
"strangers'  children,"  had,  with  a  stick, 
smitten  the  black-haired  boy  across  the 
shoulders  till  he  wept  and  yelled,  and 
Aunty  Rosa  came  in  and  abused  Uncle 
Harry  for  cruelty  to  his  own  flesh  and 
blood,  and  Punch  shuddered  to  the  tips 
of  his  shoes.  "  It  wasn't  my  fault,"  he 
explained  to  the  boy,  but  both  Harry  and 
Aunty  Rosa  said  that  it  was,  and  that 
Punch  had  told  tales,  and  for  a  week  there 
were  no  more  walks  with  Uncle  Harry, 


62  BAA    BAA,   BLACK    SHEEP. 

But  that  week  brought  a  great  joy  to 
Punch. 

He  had  repeated,  till  he  was  thrice 
weary,  the  statement  that  "  the  cat  lay  on 
the  mat  and  the  rat  came  in." 

"  Now  I  can  truly  read,"  said  Punch, 
"  and  now  I  will  never  read  anything  in 
the  world." 

He  put  the  brown  book  in  the  cupboard 
where  his  school-books  lived,  and  accident- 
ally tumbled  out  a  venerable  volume, 
without  covers,  labeled  "  Sharpe's  Maga- 
zine." There  was  the  most  portentous 
picture  of  a  griffin  on  the  first  page,  with 
verses  below.  The  griffin  carried  off  one 
sheep  a  day  from  a  German  village,  till  a 
man  came  with  a  "  falchion  "  and  split  the 
griffin  open.  Goodness  only  knew  what 
a  falchion  was,  but  there  was  the  griffin, 
and  his  history  was  an  improvement  upon 
the  eternal  cat. 


BAA    BAA,  BLACK    SHEEP.  63 

"  This,"  said  Punch,  "  means  things, 
and  now  I  will  know  all  about  everything 
in  all  the  world."  He  read  till  the  light 
failed,  not  understanding  a  tithe  of  the 
meaning,  but  tantalized  by  glimpses  of 
new  worlds  hereafter  to  be  revealed. 

"  What  is  a  '  falchion? '  What  is  a 
1  wee  lamb?'  What  is  a  '  base  ussurper?' 
What  is  a  '  verdant  me-ad? '  "  he  demanded, 
with  flushed  cheeks,  at  bed-time,  of  the 
astonished  Aunt  Rosa. 

"  Say  your  prayers  and  go  to  sleep," 
she  replied,  and  that  was  all  the  help 
Punch  then  or  afterward  found  at  her 
hands  in  the  new  and  delightful  exercise 
of  reading. 

"Aunt  Rosa  only  knows  about  God 
and  things  like  that,"  argued  Punch. 
■'■  Uncle  Harry  will  tell  me." 

The  next  walk  proved  that  Uncle  Harry 
could  not  help    either;   but   he    allowed 


64  BAA    BAA,  BLACK    SHEEP. 

Punch  to  talk,  and  even  sat  down  on  a 
bench  to  hear  about  the  griffin.  Other 
walks  brought  other  stories  as  Punch 
ranged  farther  afield,  for  the  house  held  a 
large  store  of  old  books  that  no  one  ever 
opened — from  Frank  Fairlegh,  in  serial 
numbers,  and  the  earlier  poems  of  Tenny- 
son, contributed  anonymously  to  "  Sharpe's 
Magazine,"  to  '62  Exhibition  Catalogues, 
gay  with  colors  and  delightfully  incom- 
prehensible, and  odd  leaves  of  "  Gulliver's 
Travels." 

As  soon  as  Punch  could  string  a  few 
pot-hooks  together,  he  wrote  to  Bombay, 
demanding  by  return  of  post  "  all  the 
books  in  all  the  world."  Papa  could  not 
comply  with  this  modest  indent,  but  sent 
"  Grimm's  Fairy  Tales "  and  a  "  Hans 
Andersen  "  That  was  enough.  If  he 
were  only  left  alone,  Punch  could  pass,  at 
any  hour  he  chose,  into  a  land  of  his  own, 


BAA    BAA,   BLACK    SHEEP.  65 

beyond  reach  of  Aunty  Rosa  and  her  God, 
Harry  and  his  teasements,  and  Judy's 
claims  to  be  played  with. 

"  Don't  disturve  me,  I'm  reading.  Go 
and  play  in  the  kitchen,"  grunted  Punch. 
"Aunty  Rosa  lets  yon  go  there."  Judy 
was  cutting  her  second  teeth  and  was 
fretful.  She  appealed  to  Aunty  Rosa,who 
descended  on  Punch. 

"  I  was  reading,"  he  explained, "  reading 
a  book.      I  want  to  read." 

"  You're  only  doing  that  to  show  off," 
said  Aunty  Rosa.  "  But  we'll  see.  Play 
with  Judy  now,  and  don't  open  a  book  for 
a  week." 

Judy  did  not  pass  a  very  enjoyable  play- 
time with  Punch,  who  was  consumed  with 
indignation.  There  was  a  pettiness  at 
the  bottom  of  the  prohibition  which 
puzzled  him. 

"It's  what  I  like  to  do,"  he  said,  "and 


66  BAA    BAA,   BLACK    SHEEP. 

she's  found  out  that  and  stopped  me. 
Don't  cry,  Ju — it  wasn't  your  fault — please 
don't  cry,  or  she'll  say  I  made  you." 

Ju  loyally  mopped  up  her  tears,  and 
the  two  played  in  their  nursery,  a  room  in 
the  basement  and  half  underground,  to 
which  they  were  regularly  sent  after  the 
midday  dinner  while  Aunty  Rosa  slept. 
She  drank  wine — that  is  to  say,  some- 
thing from  a  bottle  in  the  cellaret — for 
her  stomach's  sake;  but  if  she  did  not  fall 
asleep  she  would  sometimes  come  into  the 
nursery  to  see  that  the  children  were 
really  playing.  Now,  bricks,  wooden 
hoops,  nine-pins,  and  china-ware  can  not 
amuse  forever,  especially  when  all  fairy- 
land is  to  be  won  by  the  mere  opening  of 
a  book,  and,  as  often  as  not,  Punch  would 
be  discovered  reading  to  Judy  or  telling 
her  interminable  tales.  That  was  an 
offense  in  the  eyes  of  the  law,  and  Judy 


BAA    BAA,   BLACK    SHEEP.  6j 

would  be  whisked  off  by  Aunty  Rosa, 
while  Punch  was  left  to  play  alone/' and 
be  sure  that  I  hear  you  doing  it." 

It  was  not  a  cheering  employ,  for  he 
had  to  make  a  playful  noise.  At  last,  with 
infinite  craft,  he  devised  an  arrangement 
whereby  the  table  could  be  supported  as 
to  three  legs  on  toy  bricks,  leaving  the 
fourth  clear  to  bring  down  on  the  floor. 
He  could  work  the  table  with  one  hand 
and  hold  a  book  with  the  other.  This 
he  did  till  an  evil  day  when  Aunty  Rosa 
pounced  upon  him  unawares  and  told  him 
that  he  was  "  acting  a  lie." 

"If  you're  old  enough  to  do  that,"  she 
said — her  temper  was  always  worst  after 
dinner — "  you're  old  enough  to  be  beaten." 

"  But — I'm — I'm  not  a  animal!  "  said 
Punch,  aghast.  He  remembered  Uncle 
Harry  and  the  stick,  and  turned  white. 
Aunty  Rosa  had  hidden  a  light  cane  be- 


63  BAA    BAA,   BLACK    SHEEP. 

hind  her,  and  Punch  was  beaten  then  and 
there  over  the  shoulders.  It  was  a  reve- 
lation to  him.  The  room-door  was  shut, 
and  he  was  left  to  weep  himself  into  re- 
pentance and  work  out  his  own  gospel  of 
life. 

Aunty  Rosa,  he  argued,  had  the  power 
to  beat  him  with  many  stripes.  It  was 
unjust  and  cruel,  and  mamma  and  papa 
would  never  have  allowed  it.  Unless,  per- 
haps, as  Aunty  Rosa  seemed  to  imply, 
they  had  sent  secret  orders,  in  which 
case  he  was  abandoned,  indeed.  It  would 
be  discreet  in  the  future  to  propitiate 
Aunty  Rosa;  but,  then  again,  even  in 
matters  in  which  he  was  innocent,  he  had 
been  accused  of  wishing  to  "  show  off." 
He  had  "shown  off"  before  visitors  when 
he  had  attacked  a  strange  gentleman — 
Harry's  uncle,  not  his  own — with  requests 
for  information  about  the  griffin  and  the 


BAA    BAA,   BLACK    SHEEP.  69 

falchion,  and  the  precise  nature  of  the 
tilbury  in  which  Frank  Fairlegh  rode; 
all  points  of  paramount  interest  which  he 
was  bursting  to  understand.  Clearly  it 
would  not  do  to  pretend  to  care  for  Aunty 
Rosa. 

At  this  point  Harry  entered  and  stood 
afar  off,  eyeing  Punch,  a  disheveled  heap 
in  the  corner  of  the  room,  with  disgust. 

"  You're  a  liar — a  young  liar,"  said 
Harry,  with  great  unction,  "and  you're  to 
have  tea  down  here  because  you're  not  fit 
to  speak  to  us.  And  you're  not  to  speak 
to  Judy  again  till  mother  gives  you  leave. 
You'll  corrupt  her.  You're  only  fit  to 
associate  with  the  servant.  Mother  says 
so. 

Having  reduced  Punch  to  a  second 
"  gony  of  tears,  Harry  departed  down- 
stairs with  the  news  that  Punch  was  still 
rebellious. 


JO  BAA    BAA,   BLACK    SHEEP. 

Uncle  Harry  sat  uneasily  in  the  dining- 
room.  "  Damn  it  all,  Rosa,"  said  he,  at 
last,"  can't  you  leave  the  child  alone?  He's 
a  good  enough  little  chap  when  I  met 
him." 

"  He  puts  on  his  best  manners  with 
you,  Henry,"  said  Aunty  Rosa,  "but  I'm 
afraid,  I'm  very  much  afraid,  that  he  is 
the  black  sheep  of  the  family." 

Harry  heard  and  stored  up  the  name 
for  future  use.  Judy  cried  till  she  was 
bidden  to  stop,  her  brother  not  being 
worth  tears;  and  the  evening  concluded 
with  the  return  of  Punch  to  the  upper 
regions  and  a  private  sitting  at  which  all 
the  blinding  horrors  of  hell  were  revealed 
to  Punch  with  such  store  of  imagery  as 
Aunty  Rosa's  narrow  mind  possessed. 

Most  grievous  of  all  was  Judy's  round- 
eyed  reproach,  and  Punch  went  to  bed  in 
the  depths  of  the  Valley  of  Humiliation. 


BAA    BAA,   BLACK    SHEEP.  7 1 

He  shared  his  room  with  Harry  and  knew 
the  torture  in  store.  For  an  hour  and  a 
half  he  had  to  answer  that  young  gentle- 
man's question  as  to  his  motives  for  telling 
a  lie,  and  a  grievous  lie,  the  precise  quan- 
tity of  punishment  inflicted  byAunty  Rosa, 
and  had  also  to  profess  his  deep  gratitude 
for  such  religious  instruction  as  Harry 
thought  fit  to  impart. 

From  that  day  began  the  downfall  of 
Punch,  now  Black  Sheep. 

"  Untrustworthy  in  one  thing,  untrust- 
worthy in  all,"  said  Aunty  Rosa,  and 
Harry  felt  that  Black  Sheep  was  deliv- 
ered into  his  hands.  He  would  wake  him 
up  in  the  night  to  ask  him  why  he  was 
such  a  liar. 

"  I  don't  know,"  Punch  would  reply. 

"  Then  don't  you  think  you  ought  to 
get  up  and  pray  to  God  for  a  new 
heart?  " 


72  BAA    BAA,   BLACK    SI1LEF. 

"  Y-yess." 

" Get  but  and  pray,  then!"  And  Punch 
would  get  out  of  bed  with  raging  hate  in 
his  heart  against  all  the  world,  seen  and 
unseen.  He  was  always  tumbling  into 
trouble.  Harry  had  a  knack  of  cross-ex- 
amining him  as  to  his  day's  doings,  which 
seldom  failed  to  lead  him,  sleepy  and  sav- 
age, into  half-a-dozen  contradictions — all 
duly  reported  to  Aunty  Rosa  next  morn- 
ing. 

"  But  it  wasn't  a  lie,"  Punch  would  be- 
gin, charging  into  a  labored  explanation 
that  landed  him  more  hopelessly  in  the 
mire.  "  I  said  that  I  didn't  say  my  pray- 
ers twice  over  in  the  day,  and  that  was  on 
Tuesday.  Once  I  did.  I  know  I  did,  but 
Harry  said  I  didn't,"  and  so  forth,  till  the 
tension  brought  tears,  and  he  was  dis- 
missed from  the  table  in  disgrace. 

"  You  usen't  to  be  as  bad  as  this! "  said 


BAA    BAA,  BLACK    SHEEP.  7$ 

Judy,  awe-stricken  at  the  catalogue  of 
Black  Sheep's  crimes.  "  Why  are  you  so 
bad  now?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  Black  Sheep  would  re- 
ply. "  I'm  not,  if  I  only  wasn't  bothered 
upside  down.  I  knew  what  I  did,  and  1 
want  to  say  so;  but  Harry  always  makes 
it  out  different  somehow,  and  Aunty  Rosa 
doesn't  believe  a  word  I  say.  Oh,  Ju! 
don't  you  say  I'm  bad,  too." 

"Aunty  Rosa  says  you  are,"  said  Judy. 
"  She  told  the  vicar  so  when  he  came  yes- 
terday." 

"  Why  does  she  tell  all  the  people  out- 
side the  house  about  me?  It  isn't  fair," 
said  Black  Sheep.  "  When  I  was  in  Bom- 
bay, and  was  bad — doing  bad,  not  made- 
up  bad  like  this — mamma  told  papa,  and 
papa  told  me  he  knew,  and  that  was  all. 
Outside  people  didn't  know,  too— even 
Meeta  didn't  know." 


74  BAA    BAA,   BLACK    SHEEP. 

"  I  don't  remember,"  said  Judy,  wist- 
fully. "  I  was  all  little  then.  Mamma 
was  just  as  fond  of  you  as  she  was  of  me, 
wasn't  she?" 

"  '  Course  she  was.  So  was  papa.  So 
was  everybody." 

"  Aunty  Rosa  likes  me  more  than  she 
does  you.  She  says  that  you  are  a 
trial  and  a  black  sheep,  and  I'm  not  to 
speak  to  you  more  than  I  can  help." 

"Always?  Not  outside  of  the  times 
when  you  mustn't  speak  to  me  at  all?" 

Judy  nodded  her  head  mournfully. 
Black  Sheep  turned  away  in  despair, 
but  Judy's  arms  were  round  his  neck. 

"  Never  mind,  Punch,"  she  whispered. 
"  I  will  speak  to  you  just  the  same  as 
ever  and  ever.  You're  my  own,  own 
brother,  though  you  are — though  Aunty 
Rosa  says  you're  bad,  and  Harry  says 
you're  a  little  coward.  He  says  that  if 
I  pulled  your  hair  hard,  you'd  cry." 


BAA    BAA,  BLACK    SHEEP.  75 

"  Pull,  then,"  said  Punch. 

Judy  pulled  gingerly. 

"  Pull  harder — as  hard  as  you  can! 
There!  I  don't  mind  how  much  you  pull 
it  now.  If  you'll  speak  to  me  the  same 
as  ever,  I'll  let  you  pull  it  as  much  as  you 
like — pull  it  out  if  you  like.  But  I  know 
if  Harry  came  and  stood  by  and  made 
you  do  it,  I'd  cry." 

So  the  two  children  sealed  the  compact 
with  a  kiss,  and  Black  Sheep's  heart  was 
cheered  within  him,  and  by  extreme  cau- 
tion and  careful  avoidance  of  Harry, 
he  acquired  virtue,  and  was  allowed  to 
read  undisturbed  for  a  week.  Uncle  Harry 
took  him  for  walks  and  consoled  him  with 
rough  tenderness,  never  calling  him  Black 
Sheep.  "  It's  good  for  you,  I  suppose, 
Punch,"  he  used  to  say.  "  Let  us  sit 
down.  I'm  getting  tired."  His  steps  led 
him  now,  not  to  the  beach,   but  to  the 


y6  BAA    BAA,    BLACK    SHEEP. 

cemetery  of  Rocklington,  amid  the  potato 
fields.  For  hours  the  gray  man  would 
sit  on  a  tombstone,  while  Black  Sheep 
read  epitaphs,  and  then,  with  a  sigh, 
would  stump  home  again. 

"I  shall  lie  there  soon,"  said  he  to 
Black  Sheep,  one  winter  evening,  when 
his  face  showed  white  as  a  worn  silver 
coin  under  the  lights  of  the  chapel  lodge. 
"You  needn't  tell  Aunty  Rosa." 

A  month  later,  he  turned  sharp  round, 
ere  half  a  morning  walk  was  completed, 
and  stumped  back  to  the  house.  "  Put  me 
to  bed,  Rosa,"  he  muttered.  "  I've  walked 
my  last.  The  wadding  has  found  me 
out. 

They  put  him  to  bed,  and  for  a  fort- 
night the  shadow  of  his  sickness  lay  upon 
the  house,  and  Black  Sheep  went  to  and 
fro  unobserved.  Papa  had  sent  him 
some  new   books,  and  he   was    told    to 


BAA    BAA,  BLACK    SHEEP.  TJ 

keep  quiet.  He  retired  into  his  own 
world,  and  was  perfectly  happy.  Even 
at  night  his  felicity  was  unbroken.  He 
could  lie  in  bed  and  string  himself  tales 
of  travel  and  adventure  while  Harry  was 
down-stairs. 

"  Uncle  Harry's  going  to  die,"  said 
Judy,  who  now  lived  almost  entirely  with 
Aunty  Rosa. 

"  I'm  very  sorry,"  said  Black  Sheep, 
soberly.  "He  told  me  that  a  long  time 
ago." 

Aunty  Rosa  heard  the  conversation. 
"Will  nothing  check  your  wicked 
tongue?"  she  said,  angrily.  There  were 
blue  circles  round  her  eyes. 

Black  Sheep  retreated  to  the  nursery 
and  read  "  Cometh  up  as  a  Flower"  with 
deep  and  uncomprehending  interest.  He 
had  been  forbidden  to  read  it  on  account 
of  its  "  sinfulness,"  but  the  bonds  of  the 


78  BAA    BAA,   BLACK    SHEEP. 

universe  were  crumbling,  and  Aunty  Rosa 
was  in  great  grief. 

"  I'm  glad,"  said  Black  Sheep.  "  She's 
unhappy  now.  It  wasn't  a  lie,  though, 
/knew.     He  told  me  not  to  tell." 

That  night   Black  Sheep  woke  with  a 

start.     Harry  was  not  in  the  room,  and 

there  was  a  sound  of  sobbing  on  the  next 

floor.     Then  the  voice  of  Uncle  Harry, 

singing     the     song     of     the    Battle    of 

Navarino,  cut  through  the  darkness: 

" '  Our  vanship  was  the  Asia — 
The  Albion  and  Genoa! ' " 

"He's   getting   well,"    thought    Black 

Sheep,  who   knew  the  song  through  all 

its    seventeen     verses.     But    the    blood 

froze  at  his  little  heart  as  he   thought. 

The   voice   leaped   an   octave   and  rang 

shrill  as  a  boatswain's  pipe: 

" '  And  next  came  on  the  lovely  Rose, 
The  Philomel,  her  fire-ship,  closed, 


BAA    BAA,   BLACK    SHEEP.  /Q 

And  the  little  Brisk  was  sore  exposed 
That  day  at  Navarino.'" 

"  That  day  at  Navarino,  Uncle  Harry!  " 
shouted  Black  Sheep,  half  wild  with 
excitement  and  fear  of  he  knew  not 
what. 

A  door  opened,  and  Aunty  Rosa 
screamed  up  the  stair-case:  "  Hush!  For 
God's  sake,  hush,  you  little  devil!  Uncle 
Harry  is  dead!" 


THE  THIRD  BAG. 

"  Journeys  end  in  lovers'  meeting, 
Every  wise  man's  son  doth  know." 

"  I  wonder  what  will  happen  to  me 
now,"  thought  Black  Sheep,  when  the 
semi-pagan  rites,  peculiar  to  the  burial  of 
the  dead  in  middle-class  houses,  had  been 
accomplished,  and  Aunty  Rosa,  awful  in 
black  crape,  had  returned  to  this  life.     "  I 


8C  BAA    BAA,   BLACK    SHEEP. 

don't  think  I've  done  anything  bad  that 
she  knows  of.  I  suppose  I  will  soon.  She 
will  be  very  cross  after  Uncle  Harry's 
dying,  and  Harry  will  be  cross,  too.  I'll 
keep  in  the  nursery." 

Unfortunately  for  Punch's  plans,  it  was 
decided  that  he  should  be  sent  to  a  day- 
school  which  Harry  attended.  This  meant 
a  morning  walk  with  Harry,  and  perhaps 
an  evening  one;  but  the  prospect  of  free- 
dom in  the  interval  was  refreshing. 
'  Harry'll  tell  everything  I  do,  but  I  won't 
do  anything,"  said  Black  Sheep.  Fortified 
with  this  virtuous  resolution,  he  went  to 
school  only  to  find  that  Harry's  version  of 
his  character  had  preceded  him,  and  that 
life  was  a  burden  in  consequence.  He 
took  stock  of  his  associates.  Some  of 
them  were  unclean,  some  of  them  talked  in 
dialect,  many  dropped  their  tis,  and  there 
were  two  Jews  and  a  negro,  or  someone 


BAA    BAA,   BLACK    SHEEP.  8 1 

quite  as  dark,  in  the  assembly.  "  That's 
a  hubshi"  said  Black  Sheep  to  himself. 
"  Even  Meeta  used  to  laugh  at  a  hubshi. 
I  don't  think  this  is  a  proper  place."  He 
was  indignant  for  at  least  an  hour,  till  he 
reflected  that  any  expostulation  on  his 
part  would  be  by  Aunty  Rosa  construed 
into  "  showing  off,"  and  that  Harry  would 
tell  the  boys. 

"  How  do  you  like  school?"  said  Aunty 
Rosa  at  the  end  of  the  day. 

" 1  think  it  is  a  very  nice  place,"  said 
Punch,  quietly. 

"  I  suppose  you  warned  the  boys  of 
Black  Sheep's  character?"  said  Aunty  Rosa 
to  Harry. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  the  censor  of  Black 
Sheep's  morals.  "  They  all  know  about 
him." 

"  If  I  was  with  my  father,"  said  Black 
Sheep,  stung  to    the    quick,    "I  shouldn't 

6 


82  BAA    BAA,   BLACK    SHEEP. 

speak  to  those  boys.  He  wouldn't  let 
me.  They  live  in  shops.  I  saw  them  go 
into  shops— where  their  fathers  live  and 
sell  things." 

"  You're  too  good  for  that  school,  are 
you?"  said  Aunty  Rosa,  with  a  bitter 
smile.  "  You  ought  to  be  grateful,  Black 
Sheep,  that  those  boys  speak  to  you  at 
all.  It  isn't  every  school  that  takes  little 
lars. 

Harry  did  not  fail  to  make  much  capital 
out  of  Black  Sheep's  ill-considered  remark, 
with  the  result  that  several  boys,  includ- 
ing the  hubshi,  demonstrated  to  Black 
Sheep  the  eternal  equality  of  the  human 
race  by  smacking  his  head,  and  his  conso- 
lation from  Aunty  Rosa  was  that  it 
"  served  him  right  for  being  vain."  He 
learned,  however,  to  keep  his  opinions  to 
himself,  and  by  propitiating  Harry  in  car- 
rying books  and  the  like  to  secure  a  little 


BAA    BAA,  BLACK    SHEEP.  83 

peace.  His  existence  was  not  too  joyful. 
From  nine  till  twelve  he  was  at  school, 
and  from  two  to  four,  except  on  Saturdays. 
In  the  evenings  he  was  sent  down  into  the 
nursery  to  prepare  his  lessons  for  the  next 
day,  and  every  night  came  the  dreaded 
cross-questionings  at  Harry's  hand.  Of 
Judy  he  saw  but  little.  She  was  deeply 
religious — at  six  years  of  age  religion  is 
easy  to  come  by — and  sorely  divided  be- 
tween her  natural  love  for  Black  Sheep 
and  her  love  for  Aunty  Rosa,  who  could 
do  no  wrong. 

The  lean  woman  returned  that  love  with 
interest,  and  Judy,  when  she  dared,  took 
advantage  of  this  for  the  remission  of 
Black  Sheep's  penalties.  Failures  in  les- 
sons at  school  were  punished  at  home  by 
a  week  without  reading  other  than  school- 
books,  and  Harry  brought  the  news  of 
such  a  failure  with  glee.      Further,   Black 


84  BAA    BAA,   BLACK    SHEEP. 

Sheep  was  then  bound  to  repeat  his  lessons 
at  bed-time  to  Harry,  who  generally  suc- 
ceeded in  making  him  break  down,  and 
consoled  him  by  gloomiest  forebodings  for 
the  morrow.  Harry  was  at  once  spy,  prac- 
tical joker,  inquisitor,  and  Aunty  Rosa's 
deputy  executioner.  He  filled  his  many 
posts  to  admiration.  From  his  actions, 
now  that  Uncle  Harry  was  dead,  there 
was  no  appeal.  Black  Sheep  had  not 
been  permitted  to  keep  any  self-respect  at 
school;  at  home  he  was  of  course  utterly 
discredited,  and  grateful  for  any  pity  that 
the  servant-girls — they  changed  frequently 
at  Downe  Lodge  because  they,  too,  were 
liars — might  show.  "  You're  just  fit  to 
row  in  the  same  boat  with  Black  Sheep," 
was  a  sentiment  that  each  new  Jane  or 
Eliza  might  expect  to  hear,  before  a 
month  was  over,  from  Aunty  Rosa's  lips; 
and   Black   Sheep   was  used   to   ask  new 


BAA    BAA,   BLACK    SHEEP.  85 

girls  whether  they  had  yet  been  compared 
to  him.  Harry  was  "Master  Harry"  in 
their  mouths;  Judy  was  officially  "  Miss 
Judy;"  but  Black  Sheep  was  never  any- 
thing more  than  Black  Sheep  tout  court. 

As  time  went  on  and  the  memory  of 
papa  and  mamma  became  wholly  overlaid 
by  the  unpleasant  task  of  writing  them 
letters,  under  Aunty  Rosa's  eye,  each 
Sunday,  Black  Sheep  forgot  what  manner 
of  life  he  had  led  in  the  beginning  ot 
things.  Even  Judy's  appeals  to  "try 
and  remember  about  Bombay "  failed  to 
quicken  him. 

"  I  can't  remember,"  he  said.  "  I  know 
I  used  to  give  orders  and  mamma  kissed 
me." 

"  Aunty  Rosa  will  kiss  you  if  you  are 
good,"  pleaded  Judy. 

"  Ugh  !  I  don't  want  to  be  kissed  by 
Aunty  Rosa.  She'd  say  I  was  doing  it 
to  get  something  more  to  eat." 


86  BAA    BAA,   BLACK    SHEEP. 

The  weeks  lengthened  into  months, 
and  the  holidays  came;  but  just  before 
the  holidays  Black  Sheep  fell  into  deadly 
sin. 

Among  the  many  boys  whom  Harry 
had  incited  to  "  punch  Black  Sheep's 
head  because  he  daren't  hit  back,"  was 
one  more  aggravating  than  the  rest,  who, 
in  an  unlucky  moment,  fell  upon  Black 
Sheep  when  Harry  was  not  near.  The 
blows  stung,  and  Black  Sheep  struck 
back  at  random  with  all  the  power  at  his 
command.  The  boy  dropped  and  whim- 
pered. Black  Sheep  was  astounded  at 
his  own  act,  but,  feeling  the  unresisting 
body  under  him,  shook  it  with  both  his 
hands  in  blind  fury,  and  then  began  to 
throttle  his  enemy,  meaning  honestly  to 
slay  him.  There  was  a  scuffle,  and  Black 
Sheep  was  torn  off  the  body  by  Harry 
and  some    colleagues,  and    cuffed    home, 


BAA    BAA,   BLACK    SHEEP.  87 

tingling  but  exultant.  Aunty  Rosa  was 
out;  pending  her  arrival,  Harry  set 
himself  to  lecture  Black  Sheep  on  the  sin 
of  murder — which  he  described  as  the 
offense  of  Cain. 

"  Why  didn't  you  fight  him  fair? 
What  did  you  hit  him  when  he  was  down 
for,  you  little  cur?  " 

Black  Sheep  looked  up  at  Harry's 
throat,  and  then  at  a  knife  on  the  dinner- 
table. 

"  I  don't  understand,"  he  said,  wearily. 
"  You  always  set  him  on  me,  and  told  me 
I  was  a  coward  when  I  blubbered.  Will 
you  leave  me  alone  until  Aunty  Rosa 
comes  in  ?  She'll  beat  me  if  you  tell  her 
I  ought  to  be  beaten;  so  it's  all  right." 

"It's  all  wrong,"  said  Harry,  magisteri- 
ally. "  You  nearly  killed  him,  and  I 
shouldn't  wonder  if  he  dies." 

"  Will  he  die  ?  "  said  Black  Sheep. 


88  BAA    BAA,   BLACK    SHEEP. 

"  I  dare  say,"  said  Harry,  "  and  then 
you'll  be  hanged." 

"  All  right,"  said  Black  Sheep,  possess- 
ing himself  of  the  table-knife.  "  Then 
I'll  kill  you  now.  You  say  things  and  do 
things,  and  .  .  .  and  /  don't  know 
how  things  happen,  and  you  never  leave 
me  alone — and  I  don't  care  what  hap- 
pens! 

He  ran  at  the  boy  with  the  knife,  and 
Harry  fled  upstairs  to  his  room,  promis- 
ing Black  Sheep  the  finest  thrashing  in 
the  world  when  Aunty  Rosa  returned. 
Black  Sheep  sat  at  the  bottom  of  the  stairs, 
the  table-knife  in  his  hand,  and  wept  for 
that  he  had  not  killed  Harry.  The  ser- 
vant-girl came  up  from  the  kitchen,  took 
the  knife  away,  and  consoled  him.  But 
Black  Sheep  was  beyond  consolation. 
He  would  be  badly  beaten  by  Aunty 
Rosa;  then  there  would  be  another  beat- 


BAA    BAA,  BLACK    SHEEr.  89 

ing  at  Harry's  hands;  then  Judy  would 
not  be  allowed  to  speak  to  him;  then  the 
tale  would  be  told  at  school,  and  then.   .  . 

There  was  no  one  to  help  and  no  one 
to  care,  and  the  best  way  out  of  the 
business  was  by  death.  A  knife  would 
hurt;  but  Aunty  Rosa  had  told  him,  a 
year  ago,  that  if  he  sucked  paint  he 
would  die.  He  went  into  the  nursery, 
unearthed  the  now  disused  Noah's  Ark, 
and  sucked  the  paint  off  as  many  ani- 
mals as  remained.  It  tasted  abominable, 
but  he  had  licked  Noah's  dove  clean  by 
the  time  Aunty  Rosa  and  Judy  returned. 
He  went  upstairs  and  greeted  them  with: 
"  Please,  Aunty  Rosa,  I  believe  I've  nearly 
killed  a  boy  at  school,  and  I've  tried  to 
kill  Harry,  and  when  you've  done  all 
about  God  and  hell,  will  you  beat  me  and 
get  it  over?  " 

The    tale  of    the  assault    as    told    by 


90  BAA    BAA,   BLACK    SHEER 

Harry  could  only  be  explained  on  the 
ground  of  possession  by  the  devil.  Where- 
fore Black  Sheep  was  not  only  most 
excellently  beaten,  once  by  Aunty  Rosa, 
and  once,  when  thoroughly  cowed  down, 
by  Harry,  but  he  was  further  prayed  for 
at  family  prayers,  together  with  Jane,  who 
had  stolen  a  cold  rissole  from  the  pantry 
and  snuffled  audibly  as  her  enormity  was 
brought  before  the  Throne  of  Grace. 
Black  Sheep  was  sore  and  stiff  but  tri- 
umphant. He  would  die  that  very  night 
and  be  rid  of  them  all.  No,  he  would 
ask  for  no  forgiveness  from  Harry,  and 
at  bed-time  would  stand  no  questioning 
at  Harrv's  hands,  even  though  addressed 
as  "Young  Cain." 

"I've  been  beaten,"  said  he,  "and  I've 
done  other  things.  I  don't  care  what  I 
do.  If  you  speak  to  me  to-night,  Harry, 
I'll  get  out  and  try  to  kill  you.  Now, 
you  can  kill  me  if  you  like." 


baa  raa,  black  sheep.  91 

Harry  took  his  bed  into  the  spare  room, 
and  Black  Sheep  lay  down  to  die. 

It  may  be  that  the  makers  of  Noah's 
arks  know  that  their  animals  are  likely  to 
find  their  way  into  young-  mouths,  and 
paint  them  accordingly.  Certain  it  is 
that  the  common,  weary  next  morning 
broke  through  the  windows  and  found 
Black  Sheep  quite  well  and  a  good  deal 
ashamed  of  himself,  but  richer  by  the 
knowledge  that  he  could,  in  extremity, 
secure  himself  against  Harry  for  the 
future. 

When  he  descended  to  breakfast  on  the 
first  day  of  the  holidays,  he  was  greeted 
with  the  news  that  Harry,  Aunty  Rosa, 
and  Judy  were  going  away  to  Brighton, 
while  Black  Sheep  was  to  stay  in  the 
house  with  the  servant.  His  latter  out- 
break suited  Aunty  Rosa's  plans  admi- 
rably.     It  gave  her  good  excuse  for  leav- 


92  Baa   Baa,  black   sheep. 

ing  the  extra  boy  behind.  Papa  in  Bom- 
bay, who  really  seemed  to  know  a  young 
sinner's  wants  to  the  hour,  sent,  that 
week,  a  package  of  new  books.  And 
with  these,  and  the  society  of  Jane  on 
board-wages,  Black  Sheep  was  left  alone 
for  a  month. 

The  books  lasted  for  ten  days.  They 
were  eaten  too  quickly,  in  long  gulps  of 
four-and-twenty  hours  at  a  time.  Then 
came  days  of  doing  absolutely  nothing, 
of  dreaming  dreams  and  marching  imag- 
inary armies  up  and  down  stairs,  of  count- 
ing the  number  of  banisters,  and  of 
measuring  the  length  and  breadth  of  every 
room  in  hand-spans — fifty  down  the  side, 
thirty  across,  and  fifty  back  again.  Jane 
made  many  friends,  and,  after  receiving- 
Black  Sheep's  assurance  that  he  would 
not  tell  of  her  absences,  went  out  daily 
for  long  hours.     Black   Sheep  would  fol- 


BAA    BAA,   BLACK    SHEEP.  93 

low  the  rays  of  the  sinking  sun  from  the 
kitchen  to  the  dining-room,  and  thence 
upward  to  his  own  bedroom,  until  all  was 
gray  dark,  and  he  ran  down  to  the 
kitchen  fire  and  read  by  its  light.  He 
was  happy  in  that  he  was  left  alone  and 
could  read  as  much  as  he  pleased.  But, 
later,  he  grew  afraid  of  the  shadows  of 
window-curtains  and  the  flapping  of  doors 
and  the  creaking  of  shutters.  He  went 
out  into  the  garden,  and  the  rustling  of 
the  laurel  bushes  frightened  him. 

He  was  glad  when  they  all  returned — 
Aunty  Rosa,  Harry,  and  Judy — full  of 
news,  and  Judy  laden  with  gifts.  Who 
could  help  loving  loyal  little  Judy.  In 
return  for  all  her  merry  babblement, 
Black  Sheep  confided  to  her  that  the  dis- 
tance from  the  hall  door  to  the  top  of  the 
first  landing  was  exactly  one  hundred  and 
eighty -four  hand-spans.  He  had  found 
it  out  himself. 


94  BAA    BAA,   BLACK    SHEEP. 

Then  the  old  life  recommenced;  but 
with  a  difference,  and  a  new  sin.  To  his 
other  iniquities  Black  Sheep  had  now 
added  a  phenomenal  clumsiness — was  as 
unfit  to  trust  in  action  as  he  was  in  word. 
He  himself  could  not  account  for  spilling 
everything  he  touched,  upsetting  glasses 
as  he  put  his  hand  out,  and  bumping 
his  head  against  doors  that  were  mani- 
festly shut.  There  was  a  gray  haze  upon 
all  his  world,  and  it  narrowed  month  by 
month,  until  at  last  it  left  Black  Sheep 
almost  alone  with  the  flapping  curtains 
that  were  so  like  ghosts,  and  the  nameless 
terrors  of  broad  daylight  that  were  only 
coats  on  pegs,  after  all. 

Holidays  came  and  holidays  went,  and 
Black  Sheep  was  taken  to  see  many 
people  whose  faces  were  all  exactly  alike; 
was  beaten  when  occasion  demanded,  and 
tortured  by   Harry  on  all  possible  occa- 


BAA    BAA,  BLACK    SHEEP.  95 

sions;  but  defended  by  Judy  through  good 
and  evil  report,  though  she  thereby  drew 
upon  herself  the  wrath  of  Aunty  Rosa. 

The  weeks  were  interminable,  and  papa 
and  mamma  were  clean  forgotten.  Harry 
had  left  school  and  was  a  clerk  in  a  bank- 
ing-office. Freed  from  his  presence, 
Black  Sheep  resolved  that  he  should  no 
longer  be  deprived  of  his  allowance  of 
pleasure-reading.  Consequently  when  he 
failed  at  school  he  reported  that  all  was 
well,  and  conceived  a  large  contempt  for 
Aunty  Rosa  as  he  saw  how  easy  it  was  to 
deceive  her.  "  She  says  I'm  a  little  liar 
when  I  don't  tell  lies,  and  now  I  do,  she 
doesn't  know,"  thought  Black  Sheep. 
Aunty  Rosa  had  credited  him  in  the  past 
with  petty  cunning  and  stratagem  that 
had  never  entered  into  his  head.  By  the 
light  of  the  sordid  knowledge  that  she 
had  revealed  to  him,  he  paid  her  back  full 


96  BAA    BAA,    BLACK    SHEEP. 

tale.  In  a  household  when-  the  most  in- 
nocent of  his  motives — his  natural  yearn- 
ing for  a  little  affection — had  been  inter- 
preted into  a  desire  for  more  bread  and 
jam,  or  to  ingratiate  himself  with  strangers 
and  so  put  Harry  into  the  background, 
his  work  was  easy.  Aunty  Rosa  could 
penetrate  certain  kinds  of  hypocrisy,  but 
not  all.  He  set  his  child's  wits  against 
hers  and  was  no  more  beaten.  It  grew 
monthly  more  and  more  of  a  trouble 
to  read  the  school-books,  and  even 
the  pages  of  the  open-print  story-books 
danced  and  were  dim.  So  Black  Sheep 
brooded  in  the  shadows  that  fell  about 
him  and  cut  him  off  from  the  world,  in- 
venting horrible  punishments  for  "  dear 
Harry,"  or  plotting  another  line  of  the 
tangled  web  of  deception  that  he  wrapped 
round  Aunty  Rosa.  Then  the  crash 
came  and   the  cobwebs  were  broken.      It 


BAA    BAA,   BLACK    SHEEP.  97 

was  impossible  to  foresee  everything. 
Aunty  Rosa  made  personal  inquiries  as 
to  Black  Sheep's  progress  and  received 
information  that  startled  her.  Step  by 
step,  with  a  delight  as  keen  as  when  she 
convicted  an  under-fed  house-maid  of  the 
theft  of  cold  meats,  she  followed  the  trail 
of  Black  Sheep's  delinquencies.  For 
weeks  and  weeks,  in  order  to  escape  ban- 
ishment from  the  book-shelves,  he  had 
made  a  fool  of  Aunty  Rosa,  of  Harry,  of 
God,  of  all  the  world!  Horrible,  most 
horrible,  and  evidence  of  an  utterly  de- 
praved mind. 

Black  Sheep  counted  the  cost.  "It 
will  only  be  one  big  beating  and  then 
she'll  put  a  card  with  '  Liar'  on  my  back, 
same  as  she  did  before.  Harry  will 
whack  me  at  prayers  and  tell  me  I'm  a 
child  of  the  devil,  and  give  me  hymns  to 
learn.     But  I've  done  all  my  reading  and 

'4 


98  BAA    BAA,   BLACK    SHEEP. 

she  never  knew.  She'll  say  she  knew  all 
along.     She's  an  old  liar,  too,"  said  he. 

For  three  days  Black  Sheep  was  shut 
in  his  own  bedroom — to  prepare  his  heart. 
"  That  means  two  beatings.  One  at 
school  and  one  here.  That  one  will 
hurt  most."  And  it  fell  even  as  he 
thought.  He  was  thrashed  at  school  be- 
fore the  Jews  and  the  hubs  hi,  for  the 
heinous  crime  of  bringing  home  false  re- 
ports of  progress.  He  was  thrashed  at 
home  by  Aunty  Rosa  on  the  same  account, 
and  then  the  placard  was  produced. 
Aunty  Rosa  stitched  it  between  his  shoul- 
ders and  bade  him  go  for  a  walk  with  it 
upon  him. 

"  If  you  make  me  do  that,"  said  Black 
Sheep,  very  quietly,  "I  shall  burn  this 
house  down,  and  perhaps  I'll  kill  you.  I 
don't  know  whether  I  can  kill  you — 
you're  so  bony — but  I'll  try." 


BAA    BAA,   BLACK    SHEEP.  99 

No  punishment  followed  this  blas- 
phemy, though  Black  Sheep  held  himself 
ready  to  work  his  way  to  Aunty  Rosa's 
withered  throat,  and  grip  there  till  he  was 
beaten  off.  Perhaps  Aunty  Rosa  was 
afraid,  for  Black  Sheep,  having  reached 
the  Nadir  of  Sin,  bore  himself  with  a  new 
recklessness. 

In  the  midst  of  all  the  trouble,  there 
came  a  visitor  from  over  the  seas  to 
Downe  Lodge,  who  knew  papa  and  mam- 
ma, and  was  commissioned  to  see  Punch 
and  Judy.  Black  Sheep  was  sent  to  the 
drawing-room,  and  charged  into  a  solid 
tea-table  laden  with  china. 

"  Gently,  gently,  little  man,"  said  the 
visitor,  turning  Black  Sheep's  face  to  the 
light,  slowly.  "  What's  that  big  bird  on 
the  palings?" 

"  What  bird?"  asked  Black  Sheep. 

The   visitor   looked    deep    down    into 


IOO  BAA    BAA,   BLACK    SHEEP. 

Black  Sheep's  eyes  for  half  a  minute,  and 
then  said,  suddenly:  "  Good  God,  the 
little  chap's  nearly  blind! " 

It  was  a  most  business-like  visitor.  He 
gave  orders,  on  his  own  responsibility, 
that  Black  Sheep  was  not  to  go  to  school 
or  open  a  book  until  mamma  came  home. 
"  She'll  be  here  in  three  weeks,  as  you 
know,  of  course,"  said  he;  "  and  I'm 
Inverarity  Sahib.  I  ushered  you  into 
this  wicked  world,  young  man,  and  a  nice 
use  you  seem  to  have  made  of  your  time. 
You  must  do  nothing  whatever.  Can 
you  do  that?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Punch,  in  a  dazed  way. 
He  had  known  that  mamma  was  coming. 
There  was  a  chance,  then,  of  another  beat- 
ing. Thank  Heaven,  papa  wasn't  coming, 
too.  Aunty  Rosa  had  said  of  late  that  he 
ought  to  be  beaten  by  a  man. 

For  the  next  three  weeks  Black  Sheep 


BAA    BAA,   BLACK    SHEEP.  IOI 

was  strictly  allowed  to  do  nothing.  He 
spent  his  time  in  the  old  nursery  looking 
at  the  broken  toys,  for  all  of  which  account 
must  be  rendered  to  mamma.  Aunty 
Rosa  hit  him  over  the  hands  if  even  a 
wooden  boat  were  broken.  But  that  sin 
was  of  small  importance  compared  to  the 
other  revelations,  so  darkly  hinted  at  by 
Aunty  Rosa.  "When  your  mother  comes, 
and  hears  what  I  have  to  tell  her,  she  may 
appreciate  you  properly,"  she  said,  grimly, 
and  mounted  guard  over  Judy  lest  that 
small  maiden  should  attempt  to  comfort 
her  brother,  to  the  peril  of  her  own  soul. 
And  mamma  came — in  a  four-wheeler 
and  a  flutter  of  tender  excitement.  Such 
a  mamma!  She  was  young,  frivolously 
young,  and  beautiful,  with  delicately 
flushed  cheeks,  eyes  that  shone  like  stars, 
and  a  voice  that  needed  no  additional 
appeal  of  outstretched  arms  to  draw  little 


102  BAA    BAA,   BLACK    SHEEP, 

ones  to  her  heart.  Judy  ran  straight  to 
her,  but  Black  Sheep  hesitated.  Could 
this  wonder  be  "showing  off?"  She  would 
not  put  out  her  arms  when  she  knew  of 
his  crimes.  Meantime,  was  it  possible 
that  by  fondling  she  wanted  to  get  any- 
thing out  of  Black  Sheep?  Only  all  his 
love  and  all  his  confidence;  but  that  Black 
Sheep  did  not  know.  Aunty  Rosa  with- 
drew and  left  mamma  kneeling  between 
her  children,  half  laughing,  half  crying,  in 
the  very  hall  where  Punch  and  Judy  had 
wept  five  years  before. 

"  Well,  chicks,  do  you  remember   me?" 
"No,"  said  Judy,  frankly,  "but  I  said 
'  God    bless   papa    and    mamma '   ev'vy 
night." 

"A  little,"  said  Black  Sheep.  "Re- 
member I  wrote  to  you  every  week,  any- 
how. That  isn't  to  show  off,  but  'cause 
of  what  comes  afterward." 


BAA    BAA,  BLACK   S1TEEP.  103 

"What  comes  after!  What  should 
come  after,  my  darling  boy?"  And  she 
drew  him  to  her  again.  He  came  awk- 
wardly, with  many  angles.  "  Not  used  to 
petting,"  said  the  quick  mother-soul. 
"The  girl  is." 

"  She's  too  little  to  hurt  anyone," 
thought  Black  Sheep,  "and  if  I  said  I'd 
kill  her,  she'd  be  afraid.  I  wonder  what 
Aunty  Rosa  will  tell." 

There  was  a  constrained  late  dinner, 
at  the  end  of  which  mamma  picked  up 
Judy  and  put  her  to  bed  with  endearments 
manifold.  Faithless  little  Judy  had 
shown  her  defection  from  Aunty  Rosa 
already;  and  that  lady  resented  it  bit- 
terly. Black  Sheep  rose  to  leave  the 
room. 

"Come  an  i  say  good-night,"  said 
Aunty  Rosa,  offering  a  withered  cheek. 

"Huh!"  said  Black  Sheep.     "I   never 


/ 


104  BAA   BAA»  BLACK   SHEEP. 

kiss  you,  and  I'm  not  going  to  show  off. 
Tell  that  woman  what  I've  done,  and  see 
what  she  says." 

Black  Sheep  climbed  into  bed  feeling 
that  he  had  lost  Heaven  after  a  glimpse 
through  the  gates.  In  half  an  hour  "that 
woman  "  was  bending  over  him.  Black 
Sheep  flung  up  his  right  arm.  It  wasn't 
fair  to  come  and  hit  him  in  the  dark.  Even 
Aunty  Rosa  never  tried  that.  But  no 
blow  followed. 

**  Are  you  showing  off?  I  won't  tell  you 
anything  more  than  Aunty  Rosa  has,  and 
she  doesn't  know  everything,"  said  Black 
Sheep,  as  clearly  as  he  could  for  the  arms 
round  his  neck. 

"Oh,  my  son — my  little,  little  son!  It 
was  my  fault — my  fault,  darling — and  yet 
how  could  we  help  it?  Forgive  me, 
Punch."  The  voice  died  out  in  a  broken 
whisper,  and  two  hot  tears  fell  on  Black 
Sheep's  forehead 


BAA    BAA,  BLACK   SHEEP.  105 

"  Has  she  been  making  you  cry,  too?" 
he  asked.  "You  should  see  Jane  cry. 
But  you're  nice,  and  Jane  is  a  born  liar — 
Aunty  Rosa  says  so." 

"Hush,  Punch,  hush!  My  boy,  don't 
talk  like  that.  Try  to  love  me  a  little 
bit — a  little  bit.  You  don't  know  how  I 
want  it.  Punch-Sada,  come  back  to  me! 
I  am  your  mother — your  own  mother — 
and  never  mind  the  rest.  I  know — yes, 
I  know,  dear.  It  doesn't  matter  now. 
Punch,  won't  you  care  for  me  a  little?" 

It  is  astonishing  how  much  petting  a 
big  boy  of  ten  can  endure  when  he  is 
quite  sure  that  there  is  no  one  to  laugh 
at  him.  Black  Sheep  had  never  been 
made  much  of  before,  and  here  was  this 
beautiful  woman  treating  him — Black 
Sheep,  the  Child  of  the  Devil  and  the  In- 
heritor of  Undying  Flame — as  though  he 
were  a  small  god. 


106  BAA    BAA,   BLACK    SHEEP. 

"  I  care  for  you  a  great  deal,  mother 
dear,"  he  whispered  at  last,  'and  I'm  glad 
you've  come  back;  but  are  you  sure  Aunty 
Rosa  told  you  everything?  " 

"Everything.  What  does  it  matter? 
But" — the  voice  broke  with  a  sob  that 
was  also  laughter — "  Punch,  my  poor, 
dear,  half-blind  darling,  don't  you  think 
it  was  a  little  foolish  of  you?  " 

"  No.     It  saved  a  lickin'." 

Mamma  shuddered  and  slipped  away 
in  the  darkness  to  write  a  long  letter  to 
papa.      Here  is  an  extract: 

".  .  .  Judy  is  a  dear,  plump  little 
prig  who  adores  the  woman,  and  wears, 
with  as  much  gravity  as  her  religious 
opinions — only  eight,  Jack! — a  venerable 
horse-hair  atrocity  which  she  calls  her 
bustle!  I  have  just  burned  it,  and  the 
child  is  asleep  in  my  bed  as  I  write.  She 
will  come  to  me  at  once.     Punch  I  can 


BAA    BAA,  BLACK    SHEEP.  107 

not  quite  understand.  He  is  well  nour- 
ished, but  seems  to  have  been  worried 
into  a  system  of  small  deceptions  which 
the  woman  magnifies  into  deadly  sins. 
Don't  you  recollect  our  own  up-bringing, 
dear,  when  the  fear  of  the  Lord  was  so 
often  the  beginning  of  falsehood?  I  shall 
win  Punch  to  me  before  long.  I  am 
taking  the  children  away  into  the  country 
to  get  them  to  know  me,  and,  on  the 
whole,  I  am  content,  or  shall  be  when 
you  come  home,  dear  boy;  and  then, 
thank  God,  we  shall  be  all  under  one  roof 
again  at  last!" 

Three  months  later,  Punch,  no  longer 
Black  Sheep,  has  discovered  that  he  is 
the  veritable  owner  of  a  real,  live,  lovely 
mamma,  who  is  also  a  sister,  comforter, 
and  friend,  and  that  he  must  protect  her 
till  the  father  comes  home.  Deception 
does  not  suit  the  part  of  a  protector,  and 


108  BAA    BAA,   BLACK    SHEEP. 

when  one  can  do  anything  without  ques- 
tion, where  is  the  use  of  deception? 

"  Mother  would  be  awfully  cross  if  you 
walked  through  that  ditch,"  says  Judy, 
continuing  a  conversation. 

"  Mother's  never  angry,"  says  Punch. 
"She'd  just  say,  'You're  a  little  pagal;' 
and  that's  not  nice,  but  I'll  show." 

Punch  walks  through  the  ditch  and 
mires  himself  to  the  knees.  "  Mother 
dear,"  he  shouts,  "  I'm  just  as  dirty  as  I 
can  pos-jz$-ly  be! " 

"Then  change  your  clothes  as  quickly 
as  you  pos-^-ly  can!"  rings  out  moth- 
er's clear  voice  from  the  house.  "And 
don't  be  a  little  pagal!" 

"  There!  Told  you  so,"  said  Punch. 
"It's  all  different  now,  and  we  are  just  as 
much  mother's  as  if  she  had  never  gone." 

Not  altogether,  oh  Punch,  for  when 
young  lips  have  drunk  deep  of  the  bitter 


BAA    BAA,  BLACK    SHEEP.  IO9 

waters  of  Hate,  Suspicion,  and  Despair, 
all  the  love  in  the  world  will  not  wholly 
take  away  that  knowledge;  though  it 
may  turn  darkened  eyes  for  awhile  to 
the  light,  and  teach  Faith  where  no  Faith 
was. 


HIS  MAJESTY  THE  KING. 


"  Where  the  word  of  a  King  is,  there  is  power. 
And  who  may  say  unto  him — What  doest  thou?" 

"  Yeth!  And  Chimo  to  sleep  at  ve  foot 
of  ve  bed,  and  ve  pink  pikky-book,  andve 
bwead — 'cause  I  will  be  hungwy  in  ve 
night — and  vat's  all,  Miss  Biddums.  And 
now  give  me  one  kiss  and  I'll  go  to  sleep. 
So!  Kite  quiet.  Ow!  Ve  pink  pikky- 
book  has  slidded  under  ve  pillow  and  ve 
bwead  is  cwumbling!  Miss  Biddums! 
Miss  Bz'd-dumsl  I'm  so  uncomfy!  Come 
and  tuck  me  up,  Miss  Biddums." 

His    Majesty   the    King  was  going  to 

bed;  and  poor,  patient  Miss  Biddums,  who 

had  advertised  herself  humbly  as  a  "  young 

person,  European,  accustomed  to  the  care 

fill) 


112  HIS    MAJESTY    THE    KING. 

of  little  children,"  was  forced  to  wait  upon 
his  royal  caprices.  The  going  to  bed  was 
always  a  lengthy  process,  because  His  Maj- 
esty had  a  convenient  knack  of  forgetting 
which  of  his  many  friends,  from  the 
mehters  son  to  the  commissioner's  daugh- 
ter, he  had  prayed  for,  and,  lest  the  Deity 
should  take  offense,  was  used  to  toil 
through  his  little  prayers,  in  all  reverence, 
five  times  in  one  evening.  His  Majesty 
the  King  believed  in  the  efficacy  of  prayer 
as  devoutly  as  he  believed  in  Chimo,  the 
patient  spaniel,  or  Miss  Biddums,  who 
could  reach  him  down  his  gun — "  with 
cursuffun  caps — reel  ones  " — from  the  up- 
per shelves  of  the  big  nursery  cupboard. 
At  the  door  of  the  nursery  his  authority 
stopped.  Beyond  lay  the  empire  of  his 
father  and  mother — two  very  terrible  peo- 
ple who  had  no  time  to  waste  upon  His 
Majesty  the  King.   His  voice  was  lowered 


HIS    MAJESTY    THE    KING.  II3 

when  he  passed  the  frontier  of  his  own 
dominions,  his  actions  were  fettered,  and 
his  soul  was  filled  with  awe  because  of  the 
grim  man  who  lived  among  a  wilderness 
of  pigeon-holes  and  the  most  fascinating 
pieces  of  red  tape,  and  the  wonderful 
woman  who  was  always  getting  into  or 
stepping  out  of  the  big  carriage.  To  the 
one  belonged  the  mysteries  of  the  "duftar- 
room;"  to  the  other,  the  great,  reflected 
wilderness  of  the  "  Memsahib's  room," 
where  the  shiny,  scented  dresses  hung  on 
pegs,  miles  and  miles  up  in  the  air,  and 
the  just-seen  plateau  of  the  toilet-table 
revealed  an  acreage  of  speckly  combs,  em- 
broidered " hanafitch-bags,"  and  "white- 
headed  "  brushes. 

There  was  no  room  for  His  Majesty  the 
King  either  in  official  reserve  or  mundane 
gorgeousness.       He  had   discovered  that, 

ages  and  ages  ago — before  even  Chimo 
a 


114  HIS    MAJESTY    THE    KING. 

came  to  the  house,  or  Miss  Biddums  had 
ceased  grizzling  over  a  packet  of  greasy 
letters  which  appeared  to  be  her  chief 
treasure  on  earth.  His  Majesty  the  King, 
therefore,  wisely  confined  himself  to  his 
own  territories,  where  only  Miss  Biddums, 
and  she  feebly,  disputed  his  sway. 

From  Miss  Biddums  he  had  picked  up 
his  simple  theology  and  welded  it  to  the 
legends  of  gods  and  devils  that  he  had 
learned  in  the  servants'  quarters. 

To  Miss  Biddums  he  confided  with 
equal  trust  his  tattered  garments  and  his 
more  serious  griefs.  She  would  make 
everything  whole.  She  knew  exactly  how 
the  earth  had  been  born,  and  had  reassured 
the  trembling  soul  of  His  Majesty  the  King 
of  that  terrible  time  in  July  when  it  rained 
continuously  for  seven  days  and  seven 
nights,  and — there  was  no  Ark  ready  and 
all  the  ravens  had  flown  away!      She  was 


HIS    MAJESTY    THE    KING.  I  1 5 

the  most  powerful  person  with  whom  he 
was  brought  into  contact — always  except- 
ing the  two  remote  and  silent  people  be- 
yond the  nursery  door. 

How  was  His  Majesty  the  King  to  know 
that,  six  years  ago,  in  the  summer  of  his 
birth,  Mrs.  Austell,  turning  over  her  hus- 
band's papers,  had  come  upon  the  intem- 
perate letter  of  a  foolish  woman  who  had 
been  carried  away  by  the  silent  man's 
strength  and  personal  beauty?  How  could 
he  tell  what  evil  the  overlooked  slip  of 
note-paper  had  wrought  in  the  mind  of  a 
desperately  jealous  wife?  How  could  he, 
despite  his  wisdom,  guess  that  his  mother 
had  chosen  to  make  of  it  excuse  for  a  bar 
and  a  division  between  herself  and  her 
husband  that  strengthened  and  grew 
harder  to  break  with  each  year;  that  she, 
having  unearthed  this  skeleton  in  the  cup- 
board, had   trained   it  into   a   household 


I  t6  his  majesty  the  king. 

god  which  should  be  about  their  path  and 
about  their  bed,  and  poison  all  their  ways? 

These  things  were  beyond  the  province 
of  His  Majesty  the  King.  He  only  knew 
that  his  father  was  daily  absorbed  in  some 
mysterious  work  for  a  thing  called  the 
Szrkar,  and  that  his  mother  was  the  vic- 
tim alternately  of  the  Nautch  and  the 
Burrakhana.  To  these  entertainments 
she  was  escorted  by  a  captain-man  for 
whom  His  Majesty  the  King  had  no 
regard. 

''He  doesrit  laugh,"  he  argued  with 
Miss  Biddums,  who  would  fain  have 
taught  him  charity.  "  He  only  makes 
faces  wiv  his  mouf,  and  when  he  wants 
to  o-muse  me,  I  am  not  o-mused."  And 
His  Majesty  the  King  shook  his  head  as 
one  who  knew  the  deceitfulness  of  the 
world. 

Morning  and  evening  it   was  his  duty 


HIS    MAJESTY    THE    KING.  I  I  7 

to  salute  his  father  and  mother — the  for- 
mer with  a  grave  shake  of  the  hand,  and 
the  latter  with  an  equally  grave  kiss. 
Once,  indeed,  he  had  put  his  arms  round 
his  mother's  neck,  in  the  fashion  he 
used  toward  Miss  Biddums.  The  open- 
work of  his  sleeve-edge  caught  in  an  ear- 
ring, and  the  last  stage  of  His  Majesty's 
little  overture  was  a  suppressed  scream 
and  summary  dismissal  to  the  nursery. 

"  It  is  w'ong,"  thought  His  Majesty  the 
King,  "  to  hug  Memsahibs  wiv  nngs  in 
veir  ears.  I  will  amember."  He  never 
repeated  the  experiment. 

Miss  Biddums,  it  must  be  confessed, 
spoiled  him  as  much  as  his  nature  admit- 
ted, in  some  sort  of  recompense  for  what 
she  called  "  the  hard  ways  of  papa  and 
mamma."  She,  like  her  charge,  knew 
nothing  of  the  trouble  between  man  and 
wife — the  savage  contempt  for  a  woman  s 


Jl8  HIS    MAJESTY    THE    KING, 

stupidity  on  the  one  side,  or  the  dull, 
rankling  anger  on  the  other.  Miss  Bid- 
dums  had  looked  after  many  little  chil- 
dren in  her  time,  and  served  in  many 
establishments.  Being  a  discreet  woman, 
she  observed  little  and  said  less,  and 
when  her  pupils  went  over  the  sea  to  the 
Great  Unknown,  which  she,  with  touch- 
ing confidence  in  her  hearers,  called 
"  Home,"  packed  up  her  slender  belong- 
ings and  sought  for  employment  afresh, 
lavishing  all  her  love  on  each  successive 
batch  of  ingrates.  Only  His  Majesty  the 
King  had  repaid  her  affection  with  inter- 
est; and  in  his  uncomprehending  ears  she 
had  told  the  tale  of  nearly  all  her  hopes, 
her  aspirations,  the  hopes  that  were  dead, 
and  the  dazzling  glories  of  her  ancestral 
home  in  "  Calcutta.,  close  to  Wellington 
Square." 

Everything  above  the  average  was,  in 


HIS    MAJESTY    THE    KING.  I  19 

the  eyes  of  His  Majesty  the  King,  "  Cal- 
cutta good."  When  Miss  Biddums  had 
crossed  his  royal  will,  he  reversed  the  epi- 
thet to  vex  that  estimable  lady,  and  all 
things  evil  were,  until  the  tears  of  repent- 
ance swept  away  spite,  "  Calcutta  bad." 

Now  and  again  Miss  Biddums  begged 
for  him  the  rare  pleasure  of  a  day  in  the 
society  of  the  commissioner's  child — the 
willful  four-year-old  Patsie,  who,  to  the 
intense  amazement  of  His  Majesty  the 
King,  was  idolized  by  her  parents.  On 
thinking  the  question  out  at  length,  by 
roads  unknown  to  those  who  have  left 
childhood  behind,  he  came  to  the  conclu- 
sion that  Patsie  was  petted  because  she 
wore  a  big  blue  sash  and  yellow  hair. 

This  precious  discovery  he  kept  to  him- 
self. The  yellow  hair  was  absolutely  be- 
yond his  power,  his  own  tousled  wig  being 
potato-brown;    but   something   might   be 


120  HIS    MAJESTY    THE    KING. 

done  toward  the  blue  sash.  He  tied  a 
large  knot  in  his  mosquito-curtains  in  or- 
der to  remember  to  consult  Patsie  on 
their  next  meeting.  She  was  the  only 
child  he  had  ever  spoken  to,  and  almost 
the  only  one  that  he  had  ever  seen.  The 
little  memory  and  the  very  large  and 
ragged  knot  held  good. 

"  Patsie,  lend  me  your  blue  wibbon," 
said  His  Majesty  the  King. 

"  You'll  bewy  it,"  said  Patsie,  doubt- 
fully, mindful  of  certain  fearful  atrocities 
committed  on  her  doll. 

"No,  I  won't — twoofanhonor.  It's  for 
me  to  wear." 

"  Pooh!"  said  Patsie.  "  Boys  don't 
wear  sa-ashes.     Zey's  only  for  dirls." 

"  I  didn't  know."  The  face  of  His 
Majesty  the  King  fell. 

"  Who  wants  ribbons?  Are  you  play- 
ing*- horses,  chicka-biddies?"  said  the  com- 


HIS    MAJESTY    THE    KING.  131 

missioner's  wife,   stepping   into    the    ve- 
randa. 

"  Toby  wanted  my  sash,"  explained 
Patsie. 

"  I  don't  now,"  said  His  Majesty  the 
King,  hastily,  feeling  that  with  one  of 
these  terrible  "  grown-ups  "  his  poor  little 
secret  would  be  shamelessly  wrenched 
from  him,  and  perhaps — most  burning 
desecration  of  all — laughed  at. 

"  I'll  give  you  a  cracker-cap,"  said  the 
commissioner's  wife.  "  Come  along  with 
me,  Toby,  and  we'll  choose  it." 

The  cracker-cap  was  a  stiff,  three- 
pointed,  vermilion-and-tinsel  splendor. 
His  Majesty  the  King  fitted  it  on  his 
royal  brow.  The  commissioner's  wife 
had  a  face  that  children  instinctively 
trusted,  and  her  action,  as  she  adjusted 
the  toppling  middle  spike,  was  tender. 

"Will  it  do  as  well?"  stammered  His 
Majesty  the  King. 


122  HIS    MAJESTY    THE    KING. 

"  As  what,  little  one?  " 

"As  ve  wibbon?" 

"  Oh,  quite.  Go  and  look  at  yourself 
in  the  Mass." 

The  words  were  spoken  in  all  sin- 
cerity and  to  help  forward  any  absurd 
"  dressing-up  "  amusement  that  the  chil- 
dren mioht  take  into  their  minds.  But 
the  young  savage  has  a  keen  sense  of  the 
ludicrous.  His  Majesty  the  King  swung 
the  great  cheval-glass  down,  and  saw  his 
head  crowned  with  the  staring  horror  of 
a  fool's  cap — a  thing  which  his  father 
would  rend  to  pieces  if  it  ever  came  into 
his  office.  He  plucked  it  off,  and  burst 
into  tears. 

"  Toby,"  said  the  commissioner's  wife, 
gravely,  "  you  shouldn't  give  way  to 
temper.  I  am  very  sorry  to  see  it.  It's 
wrong." 

His  Majesty  the  King  sobbed  inconsol- 


HIS    MAJESTY    THE    KINO.  12^ 

ably,  and  the  heart  of  Patsie's  mother 
was  touched.  She  drew  the  child  on  to 
her  knee.  Clearly  it  was  not  temper 
alone. 

"What  is  it,  Toby?  Won't  you  tell 
me?     Aren't  you  well?" 

The  torrent  of  sobs  and  speech  met, 
and  fought  for  a  time,  with  chokings  and 
gulpings  and  gasps.  Then,  in  a  sudden 
rush,  His  Majesty  the  King  was  delivered 
of  a  few  inarticulate  sounds,  followed  by 
the  words:  "  Go  a — way,  you— dirty — 
little  debbil!" 

"Toby!     What  do  you  mean?" 

"It's  what  he'd  say.  I  hiow it  is!  He 
sait  vat  when  vere  was  only  a  little,  little 
eggy  mess  on  my  t-t-unic;  and  he'd  say  it 
again,  and  laugh,  if  I  went  in  wif  vat  on 
my  head." 

"Who  would  say  that?" 

"  M-m-my  papa!    And  I  fought  if  I  had 


124  111S    MAJESTY    THE    KING. 

ve  blue  wibbon,  he'd  let  me  play  in  ve 
waste-paper  basket  under  ve  table." 

"  What  blue  ribbon,  childie?" 

"  Ve  same  vat  Patsie  had — ve  h'w  blue 
wibbon  w-w-wound  my  t-t-tummy!" 

"What  is  it,  Toby?  There's  some- 
thing on  your  mind.  Tell  me  all  about 
it,  and  perhaps  I  can  help." 

"Isn't  anyfing,"  sniffed  His  Majesty, 
mindful  of  his  manhood,  and  raising  his 
head  from  the  motherly  bosom  upon 
which  it  was  resting.  "  I  only  fought  vat 
you — you  petted  Patsie  'cause  she  had  ve 
blue  wibbon,  and — and  if  I'd  had  ve  blue 
wibbon,  too,  m-my  papa  w-would  pet  me." 

The  secret  was  out,  and  His  Majesty 
the  King  sobbed  bitterly  in  spite  of  the 
arms  round  him,  and  the  murmur  of 
comfort  on  his  heated  little  forehead. 

Enter  Patsie  tumultuously,  embar- 
rassed   by  several    lengths    of   the  com- 


HIS    MAJESTY    THE    KING.  125 

missioner's  pet  mahseer-rod.  '  Turn 
along,  Toby!  Zere's  a  chu-chu  lizard  in 
ze  chick,  and  I've  told  Chimo  to  watch 
him  till  we  turn.  If  we  poke  him  wiz  zis, 
his  tail  will  go  wiggle-wiggle  and  fall  off. 
Turn  along!     I  can't  weach." 

"  I'm  comin',"  said  His  Majesty  the 
King,  climbing  down  from  the  commis- 
sioner's wife's  knee  after  a  hasty  kiss. 

Two  minutes  later,  the  chu-chu  lizard's 
tail  was  wriggling  on  the  matting  of  the 
veranda,  and  the  children  were  gravely 
poking  it  with  splinters  from  the  chick,  to 
urge  its  exhausted  vitality  into  "just  one 
wiggle  more,  'cause  it  doesn't  hurt  chu- 
chu." 

The  commissioner's  wife  stood  in  the 
door-way  and  watched:  "  Poor  little  mite! 
A  blue  sash — and  my  own  precious  Patsie! 
I  wonder  if  the  best  of  us,  or  we  who  love 
them  best,  ever  understand  what  goes  on 
in  their  topsy-turvy  little  heads?" 


126  IMS    MAJESTY    THE    KING. 

A  big  tear  splashed  on  the  commission- 
er's wife's  wedding-ring,  and  she  went  in- 
doors to  devise  a  tea  for  the  benefit  of  His 
Majesty  the  King. 

"  Their  souls  aren't  in  their  tummies  at 
that  age  in  this  climate,"  said  the  commis- 
sioner's wife,  "but  they  are  not  far  off.  I 
wonder  if  I  could  make  Mrs.  Austell 
understand.      Poor  little  fellow!" 

With  simple  craft,  the  commissioner's 
wife  called  on  Mrs.  Austell  and  spoke  long 
and  lovingly  about  children;  inquiring 
specially  for  His  Majesty  the  King. 

"  He's  with  his  governess,"  said  Mrs. 
Austell,  and  the  tone  intimated  that  she 
was  not  interested. 

The  commissioner's  wife,  unskilled  in 
the  art  of  war,  continued  her  questionings. 
"  I  don't  know," said  Mrs.  Austell.  "These 
things  are  left  to  Miss  Biddums,  and,  of 
course,  she  does  not  ill-treat  the  child." 


HIS    MAJESTY    THE    KING.  1 27 

The  commissioner's  wife  left  hastily. 
The  last  sentence  jarred  upon  her  nerves. 
"  Doesn't  ill-treat  the  child!  As  if  that 
were  all!  I  wonder  what  Tom  would  say 
if  I  only  '  didn't  ill-treat '  Patsie!" 

Thenceforward  His  Majesty  the  King 
was  an  honored  guest  at  the  commission- 
er's house,  and  the  chosen  friend  of  Patsie, 
with  whom  he  blundered  into  as  many 
scrapes  as  the  compound  and  the  servants' 
quarters  afforded.  Patsie's  mamma  was 
always  ready  to  give  counsel,  help,  and 
sympathy,  and,  if  need  were,  and  callers 
few,  to  enter  into  their  games  with  an 
abandon  that  would  have  shocked  the 
sleek-haired  subalterns  who  squirmed  pain- 
fully in  their  chairs  when  they  came  to  call 
on  her  whom  they  profanely  nicknamed 
"  Mother  Bunch." 

Yet,  in  spite  of  Patsie  and  Patsie's 
mamma,  and  the  love  that  these  two  lav- 


128  HIS    MAJESTY    THE    KING. 

ished  upon  him,  His  Majesty  the  King 
fell  grievously  from  grace,  and  committed 
no  less  a  sin  than  that  of  theft — unknown, 
it  is  true,  but  burdensome. 

There  came  a  man  to  the  door  one  day, 
when  His  Majesty  was  playing  in  the  hall, 
and  the  bearer  had  gone  to  dinner,  with  a 
packet  for  His  Majesty's  mamma.  And 
he  put  it  upon  the  hall  table,  said  that 
there  was  no  answer,  and  departed. 

Presently,  the  pattern  of  the  dado  ceased 
to  interest  His  Majesty,  while  the  packet — 
a  white,  neatly-wrapped  one  of  fascinating 
shape — interested  him  very  much  indeed. 
His  mamma  was  out,  so  was  Miss  Bid- 
dums,  and  there  was  pink  string  round  the 
packet.  He  greatly  desired  the  pink 
string.  It  would  help  him  in  many  of  his 
little  businesses — the  haulage  across  the 
floor  of  his  small  cane  chair,  the  torturing 
of   Chimo,  who   could   never  understand 


HIS    MAJESTY    THE    KING.  I2Q. 

harness — and  so  forth.  If  he  took  the 
string,  it  would  be  his  own,  and  nobody 
would  be  any  the  wiser.  He  certainly 
could  not  pluck  up  sufficient  courage  to 
ask  mamma  for  it.  Wherefore,  mounting 
upon  a  chair,  he  carefully  untied  the  string, 
and,  behold,  the  stiff  white  paper  spread 
out  in  four  directions,  and  revealed  a  beau- 
tiful little  leather  box  with  gold  lines  upon 
it!  He  tried  to  replace  the  string,  but 
that  was  a  failure.  So  he  opened  the  box 
to  get  full  satisfaction  for  his  iniquity,  and 
saw  a  most  beautiful  star  that  shone  and 
winked,  and  was  altogether  lovely  and 
desirable. 

"Vat,"  said  His  Majesty,  meditatively, 
"  is  a  'parkle  cwown,  like  what  I  will  wear 
when  I  go  to  heaven.  I  will  wear  it  on 
my  head— Miss  Biddums  says  so.  I 
would  like  to  wear  it  now.      I  would  like 

to  play  wiv  it.      I    will   take  it  away  and 
9 


I30  HIS    MAJESTY    THE    KING. 

play  wiv  it,  very  careful,  until  mamma  asks 
for  it.  I  fink  it  was  bought  for  me  to  play 
wiv — same  as  my  cart." 

His  Majesty  the  King  was  arguing 
against  his  conscience,  and  he  knew  it,  for 
he  thought  immediately  after:  "  Never 
mind.  I  will  keep  it  to  play~  wiv  until 
mamma  says  where  is  it,  and  then  I  will 
say:  '  I  tookt  it,  and  I  am  sorry.'  I  will 
not  hurt  it,  because  it  is  a  'parkle  cwown. 
But  Miss  Biddums  will  tell  me  to  put  it 
back.  I  will  not  show  it  to  Miss  Bid- 
dums." 

If  mamma  had  come  in  at  that  moment, 
all  would  have  gone  well.  She  did  not, 
and  His  Majesty  the  King  stuffed  paper, 
case,  and  jewel  into  the  breast  of  his 
blouse,  and  marched  to  the  nursery. 

"  When  mamma  asks,  I  will  tell,"  was 
the  salve  that  he  laid  upon  his  conscience. 
But  mamma  never   asked,  and   for  three 


HIS    MAJESTY    THE    KING.  T  3  I 

whole  days  His  Majesty  the  King  gloated 
over  his  treasure.  It  was  of  no  earthly 
use  to  him,  but  it  was  splendid,  and,  for 
aught  he  knew,  something  dropped  from 
the  heavens  themselves.  Still  mamma 
made  no  inquiries,  and  it  seemed  to  him, 
in  his  furtive  peeps,  as  though  the  shiny 
stones  grew  dim.  What  was  the  use  of  a 
'parkle  cwown  if  it  made  a  little  boy  feel 
all  bad  in  his  inside?  He  had  the  pink 
string  as  well  as  the  other  treasure,  but 
greatly  he  wished  that  he  had  not  gone 
beyond  the  string.  It  was  his  first  expe- 
rience of  iniquity,  and  it  pained  him  after 
the  flush  of  possession  and  secret  delight 
in  the  "'parkle  cwown"  had  died  away. 

Each  day  that  he  delayed,  rendered  con- 
fession to  the  people  beyond  the  nursery 
doors  more  impossible.  Now  and  again 
he  determined  to  put  himself  in  the  path 
of  the  beautifully  attired  lady  as  she  was 


132  HIS    MAJESTY    THE    KING. 

going  out,  and  explain  that  he  and  no  one 
else  was  the  possessor  of  a  "  'parkle 
cwown,"  most  beautiful  and  quite  unin- 
quired  for.  But  she  passed  hurriedly  to 
her  carriage,  and  the  opportunity  was  gone 
before  His  Majesty  the  King  could  draw 
the  deep  breath  which  clinches  noble 
resolve.  The  dread  secret  cut  him  off 
from  Miss  Biddums,  Patsie,  and  the  com- 
missioner's wife,  and — doubly  hard  fate — 
when  he  brooded  over  it,  Patsie  said,  and 
told  her  mother,  that  he  was  cross. 

The  days  were  very  long  to  His  Majesty 
the  King,  and  the  nights  longer  still. 
Miss  Biddums  had  informed  him,  more 
than  once,  what  was  the  ultimate  destiny 
of  "  fieves,"  and  when  he  passed  the  inter- 
minable mud  flanks  of  the  central  jail,  he 
shook  in  his  little  strapped  shoes. 

But  release  came  after  an  afternoon 
spent  in  playing  boats  by  the  edge  of  the 


HIS    MAJESTY    THE    KING.  1 33 

tank  at  the  bottom  of  the  garden.  His 
Majesty  the  King  went  to  tea,  and,  for 
the  first  time  in  his  memory,  the  meal 
revolted  him.  His  nose  was  very  cold, 
and  his  cheeks  were  burning  hot.  There 
was  a  weight  about  ■  his  feet,  and  he 
pressed  his  head  several  times  to  make 
sure  that  it  was  not  swelling  as  he  sat. 

"  I  feel  vevy  funny,"  said  His  Majesty 
the  King,  rubbing  his  nose.  "  Vere's  a 
buzzing  in  my  head." 

He  went  to  bed  quietly.  Miss  Bid- 
dums  was  out,  and  the  bearer  undressed 
him. 

The  sin  of  the  "  'parkle  cwown  "  was 
forgotten  in  the  acuteness  of  the  discom- 
fort to  which  he  roused  after  a  leaden 
sleep  of  some  hours.  He  was  thirsty, 
and  the  bearer  had  forgotten  to  leave  the 
drinking-water.  "  Miss  Biddums!  Miss 
Biddums!     I'm  so  kirsty! " 


134  HIS    MAJESTY    THE    KING. 

No  answer.  Miss  Biddums  had  leave 
to  attend  the  wedding  of  a  Calcutta 
school-mate.  His  Majesty  the  King  had 
forgotten  that. 

"  I  want  a  dwink  of  water!  "  he  cried, 
but  his  voice  was  dried  up  in  his  throat. 
"  I  want  a  dwink!     Vere  is  ve  glass?  " 

He  sat  up  in  bed  and  looked  round. 
There  was  a  murmur  of  voices  from  the 
other  side  of  the  nursery  door.  It  was 
better  to  face  the  terrible  unknown  than 
to  choke  in  the  dark.  He  slipped  out  of 
bed,  but  his  feet  were  strangely  willful, 
and  he  reeled  once  or  twice.  Then  he 
pushed  the  door  open  and  staggered — a 
puffed  and  purple-faced  little  figure — into 
the  brilliant  light  of  the  dining-room  full 
of  pretty  ladies. 

"  I'm  vevy  hot!  I'm  vevy  uncomfitivle," 
moaned  His  Majesty  the  King,  clinging 
to  the  portiere,    "  and   vere's  no  water  in 


HIS    MAJESTY    THE    KING.  1 35 

ve  glass,   and   I'm  so  kirsty.     Give  me  a 
dwink  of  water." 

An  apparition  in  black  and  white — His 
Majesty  the  King  could  hardly  see  dis- 
tinctly— lifted  him  up  to  the  level  of  the 
table,  and  felt  his  wrists  and  forehead. 
The  water  came,  and  he  drank  deeply, 
his  teeth  chattering  against  the  edge  of 
the  tumbler.  Then  everyone  seemed  to 
go  away — everyone  except  the  huge  man 
in  black  and  white,  who  carried  him  back 
to  his  bed;  the  mother  and  father  follow- 
ing. And  the  sin  of  the  "'parkle  cvvown" 
rushed  back  and  took  possession  of  the 
terrified  soul. 

"  I'm  a  fief!"  he  gasped.  "  I  want  to 
tell  Miss  Biddums  vat  I'm  a  fief.  Vere  is 
Miss  Biddums?  " 

Miss  Biddums  had  come  and  was  bend- 
ing over  him.  "  I'm  a  fief,"  he  whispered. 
"A    fief — like    ve    men    in    the    pwison. 


136  HIS    MAJESTY    THE    KING. 

But  I'll  tell  now.  I  tookt — I  tookt  ve 
'parkle  cwown  when  the  man  that  came 
left  it  in  ve  hall.  I  bwoke  ve  paper  and  ve 
little  bwown  box,  and  it  looked  shiny,  and 
I  tookt  it  to  play  wiv,  and  I  was  afwaid. 
It's  in  ve  dooly-box  at  ve  bottom.  No 
one  never  asked  for  it,  but  I  was  afwaid. 
Oh,  go  an'  get  ve  dooly-box! " 

Miss  Biddums  obediently  stooped  to 
the  lowest  shelf  of  the  almirah  and  un- 
earthed the  big  paper  box  in  which  His 
Majesty  the  King  kept  his  dearest  pos- 
sessions. Under  the  tin  soldiers,  ?nd  a 
layer  of  mud  pellets  for  a  pellet-bow, 
winked  and  blazed  a  diamond  star, 
wrapped  roughly  in  a  half-sheet  of  note- 
paper  whereon  were  a  few  words. 

Somebody  was  crying  at  the  head  of 
the  bed,  and  a  man's  hand  touched  the 
forehead  of  His  Majesty  the  King,  who 
grasped  the  packet  and  spread  it  on  the 
bed. 


HIS    MAJESTY    THE    KING.  137 

"  Vat  is  ve  'parkle  cwown,"  he  said,  and 
wept  bitterly;  for  now  that  he  had  made 
restitution  he  would  fain  have  kept  the 
shining  splendor  with  him. 

"  It  concerns  you,  too,"  said  a  voice  at 
the  head  of  the  bed.  "  Read  the  note. 
This  is  not  the  time  to  keep  back 
anything." 

The  note  was  curt,  very  much  to  the 
point,  and  signed  by  a  single  initial — "If 
you  wear  this  to-morrow  night,  I  shall  know 
what  to  expect."  The  date  was  three 
weeks  old. 

A  whisper  followed,  and  the  deeper 
voice  returned:  "  And  you  drifted  as  far 
apart  as  that!  I  think  it  makes  us  quits 
now,  doesn't  it?  Oh,  can't  we  drop  this 
folly,  once  and  for  all?  Is  it  worth  it, 
darling?" 

"  Kiss  me,  too,"  said  His  Majesty  the 
King,  dreamily.  "You  isn't  vevy  angwy, 
is  you?" 


I38  HIS    MAJESTY    THE    KING. 

The  fever  burned  itself  out,  and  His 
Majesty  the  King  slept. 

When  he  waked,  it  was  in  a  new  world 
— peopled  by  his  father  and  mother  as 
well  as  Miss  Biddums;  and  there  wis 
much  love  in  that  world  and  no  morsel 
of  fear,  and  more  petting  than  was 
good  for  several  little  boys.  His  Majesty 
the  King  was  too  young  to  moralize  on 
the  uncertainty  of  things  human,  or  he 
would  have  been  impressed  with  the 
singular  advantages  of  crime — ay,  black 
sin.  Behold,  he  had  stolen  the  " '  parkle 
cwown,"  and  his  reward  was  love,  and  the 
right  to  play  in  the  waste-paper  basket 
under  the  table  "for  always." 

»  #  i(c  3p  v  v 

He  trotted  over  to  spend  an  evening 
with  Patsie,  and  the  commissioner's  wife 
would  have  kissed  him.  "  No,  not  vere," 
said   His  Majesty  the  King,  with  superb 


HIS    MAJESTY    THE    KING.  1 39 

insolence,  fencing  one  corner  of  his  mouth 
with  his  hand.  ''Vat's  my  mamma's 
place — vere  she  kisses  me." 

"Oh!"  said  the  commissioner's  wife, 
briefly.  Then,  to  herself:  "Well,  1  sup- 
pose I  ought  to  be  glad  for  his  sake. 
Children  are  selfish  little  grubs,  and — I've 
got  my  Patsie." 


THE  DRUMS' OF  THE  FORE 
AND  AFT. 


"  And  a  little  child  shall  lead  them." 

In  the  Army  List  they  still  stand  as 
"  The  Fore  and  Fit  Princess  Hohenzol- 
lern-Sigmaringen-Auspach's  Merther-Tyd- 
filshire  Own  Royal  Loyal  Light  Infantry, 
Regimental  District  329  A,"  but  the  army 
through  all  its  barracks  and  canteens 
knows  them  now  as  the  "  Fore  and  Aft." 
They  may  in  time  do  something  that  shall 
make  their  new  title  honorable,  but  at 
present  they  are  bitterly  ashamed,  and  the 
man  who  calls  them  "  Fore  and  Aft  "  does 
so  at  the  risk  of  the  head  which  is  on  his 
shoulders. 

(141) 


I42   DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND  AFT. 

Two  words  breathed  into  the  stables  of 
a  certain  cavalry  regiment  will  bring  the 
men  out  into  the  streets  with  belts  and 
mops  and  bad  language;  but  a  whisper  of 
"  Fore  and  Aft"  will  bring  out  this  regi- 
ment with  rifles. 

Their  one  excuse  is  that  they  came 
again  and  did  their  best  to  finish  the  job 
in  style.  But  for  a  time  all  their  world 
knows  that  they  were  openly  beaten, 
whipped,  dumb-cowed,  shaking,  and  afraid. 
The  men  know  it;  their  officers  know  it; 
the  Horse  Guards  know  it;  and  when  the 
next  war  comes  the  enemy  will  know  it 
also.  There  are  two  or  three  regiments 
of  the  line  that  have  a  black  mark  against 
their  names  which  they  will  then  wipe  out, 
and  it  will  be  excessively  inconvenient  for 
the  troops  upon  whom  they  do  their 
wiping. 

The   courage    of    the  British  soldier  is 


DRUMS   OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT.        1 43 

officially  supposed  to  be  above  proof,  and, 
as  a  general  rule,  it  is  so.  The  exceptions 
are  decently  shoveled  out  of  sight,  only  to 
be  referred  to  in  the  freshest  of  unguarded 
talk  that  occasionally  swamps  a  mess-table 
at  midnight.  Then  one  hears  strange  and 
horrible  stories  of  men  not  following  their 
officers,  of  orders  being  given  by  those 
who  had  no  right  to  give  them,  and  of  dis- 
grace that,  but  for  the  standing  luck  of  the 
British  Army,  might  have  ended  in  brill- 
iant disaster.  These  are  unpleasant 
stories  to  listen  to,  and  the  messes  tell 
them  under  their  breath,  sitting  by  the 
big  wood  fires,  and  the  young  officer  bows 
his  head  and  thinks  to  himself,  please 
God,  his  men  shall  never  behave  un- 
handily. 

The  British  soldier  is  not  altogether  to 
be  blamed  for  occasional  lapses;  but  this 
verdict  he  should  not  know.       A   moder- 


144      DRUMS    OF    THE    FORE   AND    AFT. 

ately  intelligent  general  will  waste  six 
months  in  mastering  the  craft  of  the  par- 
ticular war  that  he  may  be  waging;  a  colo- 
nel may  utterly  misunderstand  the  capac- 
ity of  his  regiment  for  three  months  after 
it  has  taken  the  field;  and  even  a  company 
commander  may  err  and  be  deceived  as  to 
the  temper  and  temperament  of  his  own 
handful;  wherefore  the  soldier,  and  the 
soldier  of  to-day  more  particularly,  should 
not  be  blamed  for  falling  back.  He  should 
be  shot  or  hanged  afterward — potir  en- 
courager  les  autres — but  he  should  not  be 
vilified  in  newspapers,  for  that  is  want  of 
tact  and  waste  of  space. 

He  has,  let  us  say,  been  in  the  service 
of  the  empress  for,  perhaps,  four  years. 
He  will  leave  in  another  two  years.  He 
has  no  inherited  morals,  and  four  years 
are  not  sufficient  to  drive  toughness  into 
his  fiber,  or  to  teach  him  how  holy  a  thing 


DRUMS   OF   THE    FORE   AND    AFT.        1 45 

is  his  regiment.  He  wants  to  drink,  he 
wants  to  enjoy  himself — in  India  he  wants 
to  save  money— and  he  does  not  in  the 
least  like  getting  hurt.  He  had  received 
just  sufficient  education  to  make  him  un- 
derstand half  the  purport  of  the  orders  he 
receives,  and  to  speculate  on  the  nature  of 
clean,  incised,  and  shattering  wounds. 
Thus,  if  he  is  told  to  deploy  under  fire 
preparatory  to  an  attack,  he  knows  that  he 
runs  a  very  great  risk  of  being  killed  while 
he  is  deploying,  and  suspects  that  he  is 
being  thrown  away  to  gain  ten  minutes' 
time.  He  may  either  deploy  with  desper- 
ate swiftness,  or  he  may  shuffle,  or  bunch, 
or  break,  according  to  the  discipline  under 
which  he  has  lain  for  four  years. 

Armed     with     imperfect     knowledge, 
cursed  with  the  rudiments  of   an  imagi- 
nation, hampered  by  the  intense  selfish- 
ness of   the   lower   classes,   and   unsup- 
10 


146      DRUMS  OF   THE    FORE    AND   AFT. 

ported  by  any  regimental  associations,  this 
young  man  is  suddenly  introduced  to  an 
enemy  who  in  eastern  lands  is  always 
ugly,  generally  tall  and  hairy,  and  fre- 
quently noisy.  If  he  looks  to  the  right 
and  the  left  and  sees  old  soldiers — men 
of  twelve  years'  service,  who,  he  knows, 
know  what  they  are  about — taking  a 
charge,  rush,  or  demonstration  without 
embarrassment,  he  is  consoled,  and  applies 
his  shoulder  to  the  butt  of  his  rifle  with  a 
stout  heart.  His  peace  is  the  greater  if 
he  hears  a  senior,  who  has  taught  him  his 
soldiering  and  broken  his  head  on  occa- 
sion, whispering:  "They'll  shout  and 
carry  on  like  this  for  five  minutes,  then 
they'll  rush  in,  and  then  we've  got  'em  by 
the  short  hairs! " 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  if  he  sees  only 
men  of  his  own  term  of  service,  turning 
white  and  playing  with  their  triggers  and 


DRUMS   OF   THE   FORE   AND   AFT.       1 47 

saying:  "What  the  hell's  up  now?" 
while  the  company  commanders  are 
sweating  into  their  sword-hilts  and  shout- 
ing: "  Front-rank,  fix  bayonets!  Steady, 
there — steady!  Sight  for  three  hundred 
— no,  for  five!  Lie  down,  all!  Steady! 
Front-rank,  kneel!"  and  so  forth,  he 
becomes  unhappy;  and  grows  acutely  mis- 
erable when  he  hears  a  comrade  turn  over 
with  the  rattle  of  fire-irons  falling  into  the 
fender,  and  the  grunt  of  a  pole-axed  ox. 
If  he  can  be  moved  about  a  little  and 
allowed  to  watch  the  effect  of  his  own  fire 
on  the  enemy,  he  feels  merrier,  and  may 
be  then  worked  up  to  the  blind  passion 
of  fighting,  which  is,  contrary  to  general 
belief,  controlled  by  a  chilly  devil  and 
shakes  men  like  ague.  If  he  is  not 
moved  about,  and  begins  to  feel  cold  at 
the  pit  of  the  stomach,  and  in  that  crisis 
is  badly  mauled  and  hears  orders  that  were 


I48       DRUMS   OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT, 

never  given,  he  will  break,  and  he  will 
break  badly;  and  of  all  things  under  the 
sight  of  the  sun  there  is  nothing  more 
terrible  than  a  broken  British  regiment. 
When  the  worst  comes  to  the  worst,  and 
the  panic  is  really  epidemic,  the  men  must 
be  e'en  let  go,  and  the  company  command- 
ers had  better  escape  to  the  enemy  and 
stay  there  for  safety's  sake.  If  they  can 
be  made  to  come  again,  they  are  not 
pleasant  men  to  meet,  because  they  will 
not  break  twice. 

About  thirty  years  from  this  date, 
when  we  have  succeeded  in  half-educating 
everything  that  wears  trousers,  our  army 
will  be  a  beautifully  unreliable  machine. 
It  will  know  too  much,  and  it  will  do  too 
little.  Later  still,  when  all  men  are  at 
the  mental  level  of  the  officer  of  to-day, 
it  will  sweep  the  earth.  Speaking  roughly, 
you    must  employ  either  blackguards  or 


DRUMS   OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT.        1 49 

gentlemen,  or,  best  of  all,  blackguards 
commanded  by  gentlemen,  to  do  butcher's 
work  with  efficiency  and  dispatch.  The 
ideal  soldier  should,  of  course,  think  for 
himself — the  pocket-book  says  so.  Un- 
fortunately, to  attain  this  virtue,  he  has 
to  pass  through  the  phase  of  thinking  of 
himself,  and  that  is  misdirected  genius.  A 
blackguard  may  be  slow  to  think  for  him- 
self, but  he  is  genuinely  anxious  to  kill, 
and  a  little  punishment  teaches  him  how 
to  guard  his  own  skin  and  perforate 
another's.  A  powerfully  prayerful  High- 
land regiment,  officered  by  rank  Presby- 
terians, is,  perhaps,  one  degree  more 
terrible  in  action  than  a  hard-bitten 
thousand  of  irresponsible  Irish  ruffians, 
led  by  most  improper  young  unbelievers. 
But  these  things  prove  the  rule — which 
is,  that  the  midway  men  are  not  to  be 
trusted  alone.    They  have  ideas  about  the 


15O       DRUMS    OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT. 

value  of  life  and  an  up-bringing  that  has 
not  taught  them  to  go  on  and  take  the 
chances.  They  are  carefully  unprovided 
with  a  backing  of  comrades  who  have 
been  shot  over,  and  until  that  backings  is 
reintroduced,  as  a  great  many  regimental 
commanders  intend  it  shall  be,  they  are 
more  liable  to  disgrace  themselves  than 
the  size  of  the  empire  or  the  dignity  of 
the  army  allows.  Their  officers  are  as 
good  as  good  can  be,  because  their  train- 
ing begins  early,  and  God  has  arranged 
that  a  clean-run  youth  of  the  British  mid- 
dle classes  shall,  in  the  matter  of  back- 
bone, brains,  and  bowels,  surpass  all  other 
youths.  For  this  reason,  a  child  of 
eighteen  will  stand  up,  doing  nothing, 
with  a  tin  sword  in  his  hand  and  joy  in 
his  heart  until  he  is  dropped.  If  he 
dies,  he  dies  like  a  gentleman.  If  he 
lives,  he    writes    home   that  he  has  been 


DRUMS   OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT.       1 5 1 

"potted,"  "sniped,"  "chipped"  or  "cut 
over,"  and  sits  down  to  besiege  the  gov- 
ernment for  a  wound-gratuity  until  the 
next  little  war  breaks  out,  when  he  per- 
jures himself  before  a  medical  board, 
blarneys  his  colonel,  burns  incense  round 
his  adjutant,  and  is  allowed  to  go  to  the 
front  once  more. 

Which  homily  brings  me  directly  to  a 
brace  of  the  most  finished  little  fiends 
that  ever  banged  drum  or  tooted  fife  in 
the  band  of  a  British  regiment.  They 
ended  their  sinful  career  by  open  and 
flagrant  mutiny  and  were  shot  for  it. 
Their  names  were  J  akin  and  Lew — Piggy 
Lew — and  they  were  bold,  bad  drummer- 
boys,  both  of  them  frequently  birched  by 
the  drum-major  of  the  Fore  and  Aft. 

Jakin  was  a  stunted  child  of  fourteen, 
and  Lew  was  about  the  same  age.  When 
not  looked -after,  they  smoked  and  drank. 


152       DRUMS    OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT. 

They  swore  habitually  after  the  manner  of 
the  barrack-room,  which  is  cold-swearing 
and  comes  from  between  clinched  teeth; 
and  they  fought  religiously  once  a  week. 
J  akin  had  sprung  from  some  London 
gutter  and  may  or  may  not  have  passed 
through  Dr.  Barnado's  hands  ere  he  ar- 
rived at  the  dignity  of  drummer-boy. 
Lew  could  remember  nothing  except  the 
regiment  and  the  delight  of  listening  to 
the  band  from  his  earliest  years.  He  hid 
somewhere  in  his  grimy  little  soul  a  gen- 
uine love  for  music,  and  was  most  mis- 
takenly furnished  with  the  head  of  a 
cherub;  insomuch  that  beautiful  ladies 
who  watched  the  regiment  in  church  were 
wont  to  speak  of  him  as  a  "  darling." 
They  never  heard  his  vitriolic  comments 
on  their  manners  and  morals,  as  he 
walked  back  to  barracks  with  the  band 
and  matured  fresh  causes  of  offense 
against  J  akin. 


DRUMS    OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT.        1 53 

The  other  drummer-boys  hated  both 
lads  on  account  of  their  illogical  conduct. 
Jakin  might  be  pounding  Lew,  or  Lew 
might  be  rubbing  Jakin's  head  in  the  dirt; 
but  any  attempt  at  aggression  on  the  part 
of  an  outsider  was  met  by  the  combined 
forces  of  Lew  and  Jakin,  and  the  conse- 
quences were  painful.  The  boys  were 
the  Ishmaels  of  the  corps,  but  wealthy 
Ishmaels,  for  they  sold  battles  in  alternate 
weeks  for  the  sport  of  the  barracks  when 
they  were  not  pitted  against  other  boys; 
and  thus  amassed  money. 

On  this  particular  day  there  was  dis- 
sension in  the  camp.  They  had  just  been 
convicted  afresh  of  smoking,  which  is  bad 
for  little  boys  who  use  plug  tobacco,  and 
Lew's  contention  was  that  Jakin  had 
"stunk  so  'orrid  bad  from  keepin'  the 
pipe  in  his  pocket,"  that  he  and  he  alone 
was  responsible  for  the  birching  they 
were  both  tingling  under. 


154      DKUMS    OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT. 

"  I  tell  you  I  'id  the  pipe  back  o'  bar- 
ricks,"  said  Jakin  pacifically. 

"You're  a  bloomin'  liar,"  said  Lew, 
without    heat. 

"  You're  a  bloomin'  little  barstard,"  said 
Jakin,  strong  in  the  knowledge  that  his 
own  ancestry  was  unknown. 

Now  there  is  one  word  in  the  extended 
vocabulary  of  barrack-room  abuse  that 
can  not  pass  without  comment.  You  may 
call  a  man  a  thief  and  risk  nothing.  You 
may  even  call  him  a  coward  without  find- 
ing more  than  a  boot  whiz  past  your  ear, 
but  you  must  not  call  a  man  a  bastard 
unless  you  are  prepared  to  prove  it  on 
his  front  teeth. 

"  You  might  ha'  kep1  that  till  I  wasn't 
so  sore,"  said  Lew,  sorrowfully,  dodging 
round  Jakin's  guard. 

"  I'll  make  you  sorer,"  said  Jakin,  geni- 
ally,  and  got   home   on    Lew's  alabaster 


DRUMS   OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT.        1 55 

forehead.  All  would  have  gone  well  and 
this  story,  as  the  books  say,  would  never 
have  been  written,  had  not  his  evil  fate 
prompted  the  bazaar-sergeant's  son,  a 
long,  employless  man  of  five-and-twenty, 
to  put  in  appearance  after  the  first  round. 
He  was  eternally  in  need  of  money,  and 
knew  that  the  boys  had  silver. 

"  Fighting  again,"  said  he.  "  I'll  report 
you  to  my  father,  and  he'll  report  you  to 
the  color-sergeant." 

"  What's  that  to  you?"  said  J  akin,  with 
an  unpleasant  dilation  of  the  nostrils. 

"  Oh!  nothing  to  me.  You'll  get  into 
trouble,  and  you've  been  up  too  often  to 
afford  that." 

"  What  the  hell  do  you  know  about 
what  we've  done?"  asked  Lew,  the  Seraph. 
"  You  aren't  in  the  army,  you  lousy, 
cadging  civilian!" 

He  closed  in  on  the  man's  left  flank. 


I56       DRUMS    OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT. 

"jes'  'cause  you  find  two  gentlemen 
settlin'  their  differences  with  their  fistes, 
you  stick  in  your  ugly  nose  where  you 
aren't  wanted.  Run  'ome  to  your  'arf- 
caste  slut  of  a  ma — or  we'll  give  you 
what-for,"  said  J  akin. 

The  man  attempted  reprisals  by  knock- 
ing the  boys'  heads  together.  The 
scheme  would  have  succeeded  had  not 
J  akin  punched  him  vehemently  in  the 
stomach,  or  had  Lew  refrained  from  kick- 
ing his  shins.  They  fought  together, 
bleeding  and  breathless,  for  half  an  hour, 
and,  after  heavy  punishment,  triumph- 
antly pulled  down  their  opponent  as  ter- 
riers pull  down  a  jackal. 

"  Now,"  gasped  Jakin,  "  I'll  give  you 
what-for."  He  proceeded  to  pound  the 
man's  features  while  Lew  stamped  on  the 
outlying  portions  of  his  anatomy.  Chiv- 
alry is  not  a  strong  point  in  the  composi- 


DRUMS    OF    THE    FORE   AND    AFT.        1 57 

tion  of  the  average  drummer-boy.  He 
fights,  as  do  his  betters,  to  make  his 
mark. 

Ghastly  was  the  ruin  that  escaped,  and 
awful  was  the  wrath  of  the  bazaar-ser- 
geant. Awful,  too,  was  the  scene  in  the 
orderly-room  when  the  two  reprobates 
appeared  to  answer  the  charge  of  half- 
murdering  a  "civilian."  The  bazaar-ser- 
geant thirsted  for  a  criminal  action,  and 
his  son  lied.  The  boys  stood  to  attention 
while  the  black  clouds  of  evidence  accu- 
mulated. 

"You  little  devils  are  more  trouble 
than  the  rest  of  the  regiment  put  to- 
gether," said  the  colonel,  angrily.  "  One 
might  as  well  admonish  thistledown, 
and  I  can't  well  put  you  in  cells  or 
under  stoppages.  You  must  be  flogged 
again." 

"  Beg  y'   pardon,  sir.       Can't  we  say 


158   DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND  AFT. 

nothin'  in  our  own  defense,  sir?"  shrilled 
Jakin. 

"  Hey!  What?  Are  you  going  to 
argue  with  me?"  said  the  colonel. 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Lew.  "But  if  a  man 
come  to  you,  sir,  and  said  he  was  going  to 
report  you,  sir,  for  'aving  a  bit  of  a  turn- 
up with  a  friend,  sir,  an'  wanted  to  get 
money  out  o'  you,  sir — " 

The  orderly-room  exploded  in  a  roar  of 
laughter.     "  Well?"  said  the  colonel. 

"  That  was  what  that  measly  jarnwar 
there  did,  sir,  and  'e'd  a'  done  it,  sir,  if  we 
'adn't  prevented  'im.  We  didn't  'it  Mm 
much,  sir.  'E  'adn't  no  manner  o'  right 
to  interfere  with  us,  sir.  I  don't  mind 
bein1  flogged  by  the  drum-major,  sir,  nor 
yet  reported  by  any  corp'ral,  but  I'm — but 
I  don't  think  it's  fair,  sir,  for  a  civilian  to 
come  an'  talk  over  a  man  in  the  army." 

A    second    shout   of    laughter    shook 


DRUMS  OF   THE    FORE   AND    AFT.       1 59 

the    orderly-room,   but    the  colonel    was 
grave. 

"  What  sort  of  characters  have  these 
boys?1'  he  asked  of  the  regimental  sergeant- 
major. 

"  Accordin'  to  the  bandmaster,  sir,1'  re- 
turned that  revered  official — the  only  soul 
in  the  regiment  whom  the  boys  feared — 
"  they  do  everything  but  lie,  sir." 

"  Is  it  like  we'd  go  for  that  man  for  fun, 
sir?"  said   Lew,  pointing  to  the  plaintiff. 

"  Oh,  admonished — admonished!"  said 
the  colonel,  testily,  and,  when  the  boys  had 
gone,  he  read  the  bazaar-sergeant's  son  a 
lecture  on  the  sin  of  unprofitable  med- 
dling, and  gave  orders  that  the  band-mas- 
ter should  keep  the  drums  in  better  disci- 
pline. 

"  If  either  of  you  come  to  practice  again 
with  so  much  as  a  scratch  on  your  two 
ugly  little  faces,"  thundered  the  bandmas- 


l6o   DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND  AFT. 

ter,  "I'll  tell  the  drum-major  to  take  the 
skin  off  your  backs.  Understand  that, 
you  young  devils." 

Then  he  repented  of  his  speech  for  just 
the  length  of  time  that  Lew,  looking 
like  a  seraph  in  red-worsted  embellish- 
ments, took  the  place  of  one  of  the 
trumpets — in  hospital — and  rendered  the 
echo  of  a  battle-piece.  Lew  certainly 
was  a  musician,  and  had  often,  in  his  more 
exalted  moments,  expressed  a  yearning  to 
master  every  instrument  of  the  band. 

"There's  nothing  to  prevent  your 
becoming  a  bandmaster,  Lew,"  said  the 
bandmaster,  who  had  composed  waltzes 
of  his  own,  and  worked  day  and  night  in 
the  interests  of  the  band. 

"What  did  he  say?"  demanded  Jakin, 
after  practice. 

"Said  I  might  be  a  bloomin'  band- 
master, an'  be  asked  in  to  'ave  a  glass  o' 
sherry -wine  on  mess-nights," 


DRUMS    OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT.       l6l 

"Ho!  Said  you  might  be  a  bloomin'  non- 
combatant,  did  'e?  That's  just  about  wot 
'e  would  say.  When  I've  put  in  my  boy's 
service — it's  a  bloomin'  shame  that  doesn't 
count  for  pension — I'll  take  on  a  privit. 
Then,  I'll  be  a  lance  in  a  year — knowin' 
what  I  know  about  the  ins  an'  outs  o' 
things.  In  three  years,  I'll  be  a  bloomin' 
sergeant.  I  won't  marry  then,  not  I!  I'll 
'old  on,  and  learn  the  orf  cers'  ways,  an' 
apply  for  exchange  into  a  reg'ment  that 
doesn't  know  all  about  me.  Then,  I'll  be  a 
bloomin'  orf'cer.  Then,  I'll  ask  you  to 
'ave  a  glass  o'  sherry-wine,  Miste7"  Lew, 
an'  you'll  bloomin'  well  'ave  to  stay  in  the 
hanty-room  while  the  mess-sergeant  brings 
it  to  your  dirty  'ands." 

"  S'pose  I'm  going  to  be  a  bandmaster? 

Not    I,    quite.     I'll    be    a    orfcer,  too. 

There's  nothin'  like  taking  to  a  thing  an1 

stickin'  to  it,  the  schoolmaster  says.    The 
21 


1 62       DRUMS    OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT. 

reg'ment  don't  go  'ome  for  another  seven 
years.     I'll  be  a  lance  then  or  near  to." 

Thus  the  boys  discussed  their  futures, 
and  conducted  themselves  with  exemplary 
piety  for  a  week.  That  is  to  say,  Lew 
started  a  flirtation  with  the  color-ser- 
geant's daughter,  aged  thirteen — "not," 
as  he  explained  to  Jakin,  "with  any 
intention  o'  matrimony,  but  by  way  o' 
keepin'  my  'and  in."  And  the  black-haired 
Cris  Delighan  enjoyed  that  flirtation  more 
than  previous  ones,  and  the  other  drum- 
mer-boys raged  furiously  together,  and 
Jakin  preached  sermons  on  the  dangers  of 
"bein'  tangled  along  o'  petticoats." 

But  neither  love  nor  virtue  would  have 
held  Lew  long  in  the  paths  of  propriety, 
had  not  the  rumor  gone  abroad  that  the 
regiment  was  to  be  sent  on  active  service, 
to  take  part  in  a  war  which,  for  the  sake  of 
brevity,  we  will  call  "  The  War  of  the 
Lost  Tribes." 


DRUMS    OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT.        1 63 

The  barracks  had  the  rumor  almost  be- 
fore the  mess-room,  and  of  all  the  nine 
hundred  men  in  barracks  not  ten  had  seen 
a  shot  fired  in  anger.  The  colonel  had, 
twenty  years  ago,  assisted  at  a  frontier 
expedition;  one  of  the  majors  had  seen 
service  at  the  Cape;  a  confirmed  deserter 
in  E  Company  had  helped  to  clear  streets 
in  Ireland;  but  that  was  all.  The  regi- 
ment had  been  put  by  for  many  years. 
The  overwhelming  mass  of  its  rank  and 
file  had  from  three  to  four  years'  service; 
the  non-commissioned  officers  were  under 
thirty  years  old;  and  men  and  sergeants 
alike  had  forgotten  to  speak  of  the  stories, 
written  in  brief  upon  the  colors — the  new 
colors  that  had  been  formally  blessed  by 
an  archbishop  in  England  ere  the  regi- 
ment came  away. 

They  wanted  to  go  to  the  front — they 
were  enthusiastically  anxious  to  go — but 


164       DRUMS   OF    THE    FORE   AND    AFT. 

they  had  no  knowledge  of  what  war 
meant,  and  there  was  none  to  tell  them. 
They  were  an  educated  regiment,  the  per- 
centage of  school  certificates  in  their  ranks 
was  high,  and  most  of  the  men  could  do 
more  than  read  and  write.  They  had  been 
recruited  in  loyal  observance  of  the  terri- 
torial idea;  but  they  themselves  had  no 
notion  of  that  idea.  They  were  made  up 
of  drafts  from  an  overpopulated  manu- 
facturing district.  The  system  had  put 
flesh  and  muscle  upon  their  small  bones, 
but  it  could  not  put  heart  into  the  sons  of 
those  who  for  generations  had  done  over- 
much work  for  over-scanty  pay,  had 
sweated  in  drying-rooms,  stooped  over 
looms,  coughed  among  white-lead,  and 
shivered  on  lime-barges.  The  men  had 
found  food  and  rest  in  the  army,  and  now 
they  were  going  to  fight  "  niggers  " — peo- 
ple who  ran  away  if  you  shook  a  stick  at 


DRUMS    OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT.       1 65 

them.  Wherefore  they  cheered  lustily 
when  the  rumor  ran,  and  the  shrewd, 
clerkly,  non-commissioned  officers  specu- 
lated on  the  chances  of  battle  and  of  sav- 
ing their  pay.  At  head-quarters,  men 
said:  "  The  Fore  and  Fit  have  never  been 
under  fire  within  the  last  generation.  Let 
us,  therefore,  break  them  in  easily  by  set- 
ting them  to  guard  lines  of  communica- 
tion." And  this  would  have  been  done 
but  for  the  fact  that  British  regiments 
were  wanted — badly  wanted — at  the  front, 
and  there  were  doubtful  native  regiments 
that  could  fill  the  minor  duties.  "  Brigade 
'em  with  two  strong  regiments,"  said 
head-quarters.  "  They  may  be  knocked 
about  a  bit,  but  they'll  learn  their  busi- 
ness before  they  come  through.  Nothing 
like  a  night-alarm  and  a  little  cutting-up 
of  stragglers  to  make  a  regiment  smart  in 
the  field.  Wait  till  they've  had  half-a- 
dozen  sentries'  throats  cut." 


1 66       DRUMS    OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT, 

The  colonel  wrote  with  delight  that  the 
temper  of  his  men  was  excellent,  that  the 
regiment  was  all  that  could  be  wished,  and 
as  sound  as  a  bell.  The  majors  smiled 
with  a  sober  joy,  and  the  subalterns 
waltzed  in  pairs  down  the  mess-room 
after  dinner  and  nearly  shot  themselves 
at  revolver-practice.  But  there  was  con- 
sternation in  the  hearts  of  Jakin  and  Lew. 
What  was  to  be  done  with  the  drums? 
Would  the  band  go  to  the  front?  How 
many  of  the  drums  would  accompany  the 
regiment? 

They  took  council  together,  sitting  in  a 
tree  and  smoking. 

"  It's  more  than  a  bloomin'  toss-up 
they'll  leave  us  be'incl  at  the  depot  with 
the  women.  You'll  like  that,"  said  Jakin, 
sarcastically. 

"'Cause  o'  Cris,  y'  mean?  Wot's  a 
woman,    or    a    'ole    bloomin'    depot    o' 


DRUMS   OF   THE   FORE   AND   AFT.       167 

women,  'longside  o'  the  chanst  of  field- 
service?  You  know  I'm  as  keen  on  goin' 
as  you,"  said  Lew. 

"  Wish  I  was  a  bloomin'  bugler,"  said 
J  akin,  sadly.  "  They'll  take  Tom  Kidd 
along,  that  I  can  plaster  a  wall  with,  an' 
like  as  not  they  won't  take  us." 

"Then  let's  go  an'  make  Tom  Kidd  so 
bloomin'  sick  'e  can't  bugle  no  more. 
You  'old  Ms  'ands,  an'  I'll  kick  him,"  said 
Lew,  wriggling  on  the  branch. 

"  That  ain't  no  good,  neither.  We  ain't 
the  sort  o'  characters  to  presoon  on  our 
rep'tations — they're  bad.  If  they  have 
the  band  at  the  depot  we  don't  go,  and 
no  error  there.  If  they  take  the  band  we 
may  get  cast  for  medical  unfitness.  Are 
you  medical  fit,  Piggy?"  said  Jakin,  dig- 
ging Lew  in  the  ribs  with  force. 

"  Yus,"  said  Lew,  with  an  oath.  "  The 
doctor   says   your   'eart's    weak   through 


1 68       DRUMS   OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT. 

smokin'  on  an  empty  stummick.     Throw 
a  chest,  an'  I'll  try  yer." 

Jakin  threw  out  his  chest,  which  Lew 
smote  with  all  his  might.  Jakin  turned 
very  pale,  gasped,  crowed,  screwed  up  his 
eyes,  and  said  "  That's  all  right." 

"  You'll  do,"  said  Lew.  "  I've  'eard  o' 
men  dyin'  when  you  'it  'em  fair  on  the 
breast-bone." 

"  Don't  bring  us  no  nearer  goin', 
though,"  said  Jakin.  "  Do  you  know 
where  we're  ordered?  " 

"  Gawd  knows,  an'  'e  won't  split  on  a 
pal.  Somewheres  up  to  the  front  to  kill 
Paythans — hairy  big  beggars  that  turn 
you  inside  out  if  they  get  'old  o'  you. 
They  say  their  women  are  good-looking, 
too." 

"  Any  loot?"  asked  the  abandoned 
Jakin. 

"  Not  a  bloomin'  anna,  they  say,  unless 


DRUMS  OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT.       1 69 

you  dig  up  the  ground  an'  see  what  the 
niggers  'ave  'id.  They're  a  poor  lot." 
Jakin  stood  upright  on  the  branch  and 
gazed  across  the  plain. 

"  Lew,"  said  he,  "  there's  the  colonel 
coming.  Colonel's  a  good  old  beggar. 
Let's  go  an'  talk  to  'im." 

Lew  nearly  fell  out  of  the  tree  at  the 
audacity  of  the  suggestion.  Like  Jakin, 
he  feared  not  God,  neither  regarded  he 
man,  but  there  are  limits  even  to  the 
audacity  of  drummer-boy,  and  to  speak 
to  a  colonel  was — 

But  Jakin  had  slid  down  the  trunk  and 
doubled  in  the  direction  of  the  colonel. 
That  officer  was  walking  wrapped  in 
thought  and  visions  of  a  C.  B. — yes,  even 
a  K.  C.  B.,  for  had  he  not  at  command 
one  of  the  best  regiments  of  the  line — • 
the  Fore  and  Fit?  And  he  was  aware  of 
two  small  boys  charging  down  upon  him. 


IJO      DRUMS    OF    THE    FORE    AND   AFT. 

Once  before,  it  had  been  solemnly 
reported  to  him  that  "the  drums  were 
in  a  state  of  mutiny;1'  Jakin  and  Lew- 
being  the  ringleaders.  This  looked  like 
an  organized  conspiracy. 

The  boys  halted  at  twenty  yards, 
walked  to  the  regulation  four  paces,  and 
saluted  together,  each  as  well  set-up  as  a 
ramrod  and  little  taller. 

The  colonel  was  in  a  genial  mood;  the 
boys  appeared  very  forlorn  and  unpro- 
tected on  the  desolate  plain,  and  one  of 
them  was  handsome. 

"Well!"  said  the  colonel,  recognizing 
them.  "  Are  you  going  to  pull  me  down 
in  the  open?  I'm  sure  I  never  interfere 
with  you,  even  though" — he  sniffed 
suspiciously — "you  have  been  smoking." 

It  was  time  to  strike  while  the  iron  was 
hot.     Their  hearts  beat  tumultuously. 

"  Beg    y'    pardon,     sir,"  began    Jakin. 


DRUMS   OF    THE    FORE   .AND    AFT.       IJ\ 


"  The  regiment's  ordered  on  active 
service,  sir?  " 

"  So  I  believe,"  said  the  colonel,  court- 
eously. 

"  Is  the  band  goin',  sir?"  said  both 
together.  Then,  without  pause,  "We're 
goin',  sir,  ain't  we?" 

"You!"  said  the  colonel,  stepping  back 
the  more  fully  to  take  in  the  two  small 
figures.     "You!     You'd  die    in    the  first 

o 

march." 

"  No,  we  wouldn't,  sir.  We  can  march 
with  the  reg'ment  anywheres — p'rade  an' 
anywhere  else,"  said  J  akin. 

"  If  Tom  Kidd  goes,  'e'll  shut  up  like  a 
clasp-knife,"  said  Lew.  "  Tom  'as  very 
close  veins  in  both  'is  legs,  sir." 

"  Very  how  much?" 

"  Very  close  veins,  sir.  That's  why 
they  swells  after  long  p'rade,  sir.  If  'e 
can  go,  we  can  go,  sir." 


172       DRUMS    OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT. 

Again  the  colonel  looked  at  them  long- 
and  intently. 

"Yes,  the  band  is  going,"  he  said  as 
gravely  as  though  he  had  been  address- 
ing a  brother  officer.  "  Have  you  any 
parents,  either  of  you  two?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  rejoicingly  from  Lew  and 
Jakin.  "  We're  both  orphans,  sir. 
There's  no  one  to  be  considered  of  on 
our  account,  sir." 

"  You  poor  little  sprats,  and  you  want 
to  go  up  to  the  front  with  the  regiment, 
do  you?     Why?" 

"  I've  wore  the  queen's  uniform  for  two 
years,"  said  Jakin.  "  It's  very  'ard,  sir, 
that  a  man  don't  get  no  recompense  for 
doin'  'is  dooty,  sir." 

"  An' — an'  if  I  don't  go,  sir,"  inter- 
rupted Lew,  "the  bandmaster  'e  says 'e'll 
catch  an'  make  a  bloo — a  blessed  musi- 
cian o'  me,  sir.  Before  I've  seen  any 
service,  sir." 


DRUMS    OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT.        I  73 

The  colonel  made  no  answer  for  a  long 
time.     Then  he  said,  quietly:   "  If  you're 
passed  by  the  doctor,  I  dare  say  you  can 
,  go.     I  shouldn't  smoke  if  I  were  you." 

The  boys  saluted  and  disappeared. 
The  colonel  walked  home  and  told  the 
story  to  his  wife,  who  nearly  cried  over  it. 
The  colonel  was  well  pleased.  If  that 
was  the  temper  of  the  children,  what 
would  not  the  men  do? 

J  akin  and  Lew  entered  the  boys'  bar- 
rack-room with  great  stateliness,  and  re- 
fused to  hold  any  conversation  with  their 
comrades  for  at  least  ten  minutes.  Then, 
bursting  with  pride,  Jakin  drawled:  "  I've 
bin  intervooin'  the  colonel.  Good  old 
beggar  is  the  colonel.  Says  I  to  'im, 
'colonel,'  says  I,  'let  me  go  to  the  front, 
along  o'  the  reg'ment.'  '  To  the  front 
you  shall  go,'  says  'e,  'an'  I  only  wish 
there  was  more  like  you  among  the  dirty 


I  74       DRUMS    OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT. 

little  devils  that  bang  the  bloomin* 
drums.'  Kidd,  if  you  throw  your  'couter- 
ments  at  me  for  tellin'  you  the  truth  to 
your  own  advantage,  your  legs  '11  swell." 

None  the  less  there  was  a  battle-royal 
in  the  barrack-room,  for  the  boys  were 
consumed  with  envy  and  hate,  and 
neither  Jakin  nor  Lew  behaved  in  con- 
ciliatory wise. 

"I'm  goin'  out  to  say  adoo  to  my  girl," 
said  Lew,  to  cap  the  climax.  "  Don't 
none  o'  you  touch  my  kit  because  it's 
wanted  for  active  service,  me  bein' 
specially  invited  to  go  by  the  colonel." 

He  strolled  forth  and  whistled  in  the 
clump  of  trees  at  the  back  of  the  married 
quarters  till  Cris  came  to  him,  and,  the 
preliminary  kisses  being  given  and  taken, 
Lew  began  to  explain  the  situation. 

"I'm  goin'  to  the  front  with  the  reg'- 
ment,"  he  said,  valiantly. 


DRUMS    OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT.        1 75 

11  ^ig&y>  you're  a  little  liar,"  said  Cris,  but 
her  heart  misgave  her,  for  Lew  was  not 
in  the  habit  of  lying. 

"Liar  yourself,  Cris,"  said  Lew,  slip- 
ping an  arm  round  her.  "I'm  goin'. 
When  the  reg'ment  marches  out  you'll 
see  me  with  'em,  all  galliant  and  gay. 
Give  us  another  kiss,  Cris,  on  the  strength 
of  it." 

"If  you'd  on'y  a-stayed  at  the  depot — 
where  you  ought  to  ha'  bin — you  could 
get  as  many  of  'em  as — as  you  damn 
please,"  whimpered  Cris,  putting  up  her 
mouth. 

"It's  'ard,  Cris.  I  grant  you,  it's  'ard. 
But  what's  a  man  to  do?  If  I'd  a-stayed 
at  the  depot,  you  wouldn't  think  anything 
of  me." 

"  Like  as  not,  but  I'd  'ave  you  with 
me>  Piggy-  An'  all  the  thinkin'  in  the 
world  isn't  like  kissin'." 


176      DRUMS   OF   THE    FORE    AND    AFT. 

"  An'  all  the  kissin'  in  the  world  isn't 
like  'avin'  a  medal  to  wear  on  the  front  o' 
your  coat." 

"  You  won't  get  no  medal." 

"  Oh,  yus,  I  shall,though.  Me  an'  J  akin 
are  the  only  acting-drummers  that'll  be 
took  along.  All  the  rest  is  full  men,  an' 
we'll  get  our  medals  with  them." 

"  They  might  ha'  taken  anybody  but 
you,  Piggy.  You'll  get  killed — you're  so 
venturesome.  Stay  with  me,  Piggy,  dar- 
lin',  down  at  the  depot,  an'  I'll  love  you 
true  forever." 

"  Ain't  you  goin'  to  do  that  now,  Cris? 
You  said  you  was." 

"  O'  course  I  am,  but  th'  other's  more 
comfortable.  Wait  till  you've  growed  a 
bit,  Piggy.     You  aren't  no  taller  than  me 


now." 


"I've  bin  in  the  army  for  two  years  an' 
I'm  not  goin'  to  get  out  of  a  chanst  o'  see- 


DRUMS    OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT.        \JJ 

in'  service  an'  don't  you  try  to  make  me 
do  so.  I'll  come  back,  Cris,  an'  when  I 
take  on  as  a  man  I'll  marry  you — marry 
you  when  I'm  a  lance." 

"  Promise,  Piggy?" 

Lew  reflected  on  the  future  as  arranged 
by  Jakin  a  short  time  previously,  but 
Cris's  mouth  was  very  near  to  his  own. 

"  I  promise,  s'elp  me  Gawd!"  said  he. 

Cris  slid  an  arm  round  his  neck. 

"  I  won't  'old  you  back  no  more,  Piggy. 
Go  away  an'  get  your  medal,  an1  I'll  make 
you  a  new  button-bag  as  nice  as  I  know 
how,"  she  whispered. 

"  Put  some  o'  your  'air  into  it,  Cris,  an' 
I'll  keep  it  in  my  pocket  so  long's  I'm 
alive." 

Then  Cris  wept  anew,  and  the  interview 
ended.  Public  feeling  among  the  drum- 
mer-boys rose  to  fever  pitch,  and  the  lives 

of  Jakin  and    Lew    became    unenviable. 
ia 


I78       DRUMS   OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT. 

Not  only  had  they  been  permitted  to 
enlist  two  years  before  the  regulation  boy's 
age — fourteen — but,  by  virtue,  it  seemed, 
of  their  extreme  youth,  they  were  allowed 
to  go  to  the  front — which  thing  had  not 
happened  to  acting-drummers  within  the 
knowledge  of  boy.  The  band  which  was 
to  accompany  the  regiment  had  been  cut 
down  to  the  regulation  twenty  men,  the 
surplus  returning  to  the  ranks.  J  akin 
and  .Lew  were  attached  to  the  band  as 
supernumeraries,  though  they  would  much 
have  preferred  being  company  buglers. 

"  Don't  matter  much,"  said  Jakin,  after 
the  medical  inspection.  "  Be  thankful 
that  we're  'lowed  to  go  at  all.  The 
doctor  'e  said  that  if  we  could  stand  what 
we  took  from  the  bazaar-sergeant's  son, 
we'd  stand  pretty  nigh  anything." 

"Which  we  will,"  said  Lew,  looking 
tenderly    at    the    ragged     and    ill-made 


DRUMS  OF   THE   FORE   AND    AFT.       1 79 

housewife  that  Cris  had  given  him,  with 
a  lock  of  her  hair  worked  into  a  sprawl- 
ing "  L  "  upon  the  cover. 

"  It  was  the  best  I  could,"  she  sobbed. 
"  I  wouldn't  let  mother  nor  the  sergeant's 
tailor  'elp   me.     Keep  it  always,    Piggy,  • 
an'  remember  I  love  you  true." 

They  marched  to  the  railway  station, 
nine  hundred  and  sixty  strong,  and  every 
soul  in  cantonments  turned  out  to  see 
them  go.  The  drummers  gnashed  their 
teeth  at  Jakin  and  Lew  marching  with 
the  band,  the  married  women  wept  upon 
the  platform,  and  the  regiment  cheered 
its  noble  self  black  in  the  face. 

"  A  nice  level  lot,"  said  the  colonel  to 
the  second  in  command  as  they  watched 
the  first  four  companies  entraining. 

"  Fit  to  do  anything,"  said  the  second 
in  command,  enthusiastically.  "  But  it 
seems  to  me  they're  a  thought  too  young 


l8o       DRUMS    OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT. 

and  tender  for   the   work  in  hand      It's 
bitter  cold  up  at  the  front  now." 

"  They're  sound  enough,"  said  the  colo- 
nel. "  We  must  take  our  chance  of  sick 
casualties." 

So  they  went  northward,  ever  north- 
ward, past  droves  and  droves  of  camels, 
armies  of  camp  followers,  and  legions  of 
laden  mules,  the  throng  thickening  day 
by  day,  till  with  a  shriek  the  train  pulled 
up  at  a  hopelessly  congested  junction 
where  six  lines  of  temporary  track  accom- 
modated six  forty-wagon  trains;  where 
whistles  blew,  Babus  sweated  and  com- 
missariat officers  swore  from  dawn  till  far 
into  the  night  amid  the  wind-driven  chaff 
of  the  fodder-bales  and  the  lowing  of  a 
thousand  steers. 

"Hurry  up — you're  badly  wanted  at 
the  front,"  was  the  message  that  greeted 
the  Fore  and  Aft,  and  the  occupants  of 


DRUMS    OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT.        iSl 

the  Red  Cross  carriages  told  the  same 
tale. 

"'Tisn't  so  much  the  bloomin' 
fightin',"  gasped  a  headbound  trooper 
of  hussars  to  a  knot  of  admiring  Fore 
and  Afts.  "' Tisn't  so  much  the  bloomin' 
fightin',  though  there's  enough  o'  that. 
It's  the  bloomin'  food  an'  the  bloomin' 
climate.  Frost  all  night  'cept  when  it 
hails,  an'  bilin'  sun  all  day,  an'  the  water 
stinks  fit  to  knock  you  down.  I  got  my 
'ead  chipped  like  a  egg;  I've  got  pneu- 
monia, too,  an'  my  guts  is  all  out  o'  order. 
'Tain't  no  bloomin'  picnic  in  those  parts, 
I  can  tell  you." 

"  Wot  are  the  niggers  like?"  demanded 
a  private. 

"  There's  some  prisoners  in  that  train 
yonder.  Go  an'  look  at  'em.  They're 
the  aristocracy  o'  the  country.  The  com- 
mon folk  are  a  dashed  sight  uglier.     If 


l82   DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND  AFT. 

you  want  to  know  what  they  fight  with, 
reach  under  my  seat  an'  pull  out  the  long 
knife  that's  there." 

They  dragged  out  and  beheld  for  the 
first  time  the  grim,  bone-handled,  tri- 
angular Afghan  knife.  It  was  almost 
as  long  as  Lew. 

"That's  the  think  to  j'int  ye,"  said  the 
trooper,  feebly.  "  It  can  take  off  a  man's 
arm  at  the  shoulder  as  easy  as  slicing 
butter.  I  halved  the  beggar  that  used 
that  'un,  but  there's  more  of  his  likes  up 
above.  They  don't  understand  thrustin', 
but    they're   devils  to  slice.' 

The  men  strolled  across  the  tracks  to 
inspect  the  Afghan  prisoners.  They  were 
unlike  any  "niggers"  that  the  Fore  and 
Aft  had  ever  met — these  huge,  black- 
haired,  scowling  sons  of  the  Beni-Israel. 
As  the  men  stared,  the  Afghans  spat 
freely  and  muttered  one  to  another  with 
lowered  eyes. 


DRUMS   OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT.        1 83 

"My  eyes!  Wot  awful  swine!"  said 
Jakin,  who  was  in  the  rear  of  the  proces- 
sion. "  Say,  old  man,  how  you  got  puck- 
rowed,  eh?  Kiszvasti  you  wasn't  hanged 
for  your  ugly  face,  hey?" 

The  tallest  of  the  company  turned,  his 
leg-irons  clanking  at  the  movement,  and 
stared  at  the  boy.  "  See!"  he  cried  to  his 
fellows  in  Pushto,  "  they  send  children 
against  us.  What  a  people,  and  what 
fools!" 

"  Hya!"  said  Jakin,  nodding  his  head, 
cheerily.  "You  go  down-country.  Khana 
get,  peenikapanee  get- — live  like  a  bloom- 
in'  rajah  ke  marjik.  That's  a  better 
bandobust  than  baynit  get  it  in  your  in- 
nards. Good-bye,  old  man.  Take  care 
o'  your  beautiful  figure-'ed,  an'  try  to  look 
kusky" 

The  men  laughed  and  fell  in  for  their 
first   march    when    they    began  to  realize 


184       DRUMS   OF   THE    FORE    AND    AFT. 

that  a  soldier's  life  was  not  all  beer  and 
skittles.  They  were  much  impressed  with 
the  size  and  bestial  ferocity  of  the  niggers, 
whom  they  had  now  learned  to  call  "  Pay- 
thans,"  and  more  with  the  exceeding  dis- 
comfort of  their  own  surroundings. 
Twenty  old  soldiers  in  the  corps  would 
have  taught  them  how  to  make  themselves 
moderately  snug  at  night,  but  they  had  no 
old  soldiers,  and,  as  the  troops  on  the  line 
of  march  said,  "  they  lived  like  pigs." 
They  learned  the  heart-breaking  cussed- 
ness  of  camp-kitchens  and  camels  and  the 
depravity  of  an  E.  P.  tent  and  a  wither- 
wrung  mule.  They  studied  animalcule  in 
water,  and  developed  a  few  cases  of  dys- 
entery in  their  study. 

At  the  end  of  their  third  march  they 
were  disagreeably  surprised  by  the  arrival 
in  their  camp  of  a  hammered  iron  slug 
which,  fired  from   a  steady-rest  at  seven 


DRUMS   OF   THE    FORE   AND   AFT.       1 85 

hundred  yards,  flicked  out  the  brains  of  a 
private  seated  by  the  fire.  This  robbed 
them  of  their  peace  for  a  night,  and  was 
the  beginning  of  a  long-range  fire  care- 
fully calculated  to  that  end.  In  the  day- 
time, they  saw  nothing  except  an  occa- 
sional puff  of  smoke  from  a  crag  above  the 
line  of  march.  At  night,  there  were  dis- 
tant spurts  of  flame  and  occasional  casual- 
ties, which  set  the  whole  camp  blazing 
into  the  gloom,  and,  occasionally,  into 
opposite  tents.  Then  they  swore  vehe- 
mently and  vowed  that  this  was  magnifi- 
cent but  not  war. 

Indeed  it  was  not.  The  regiment 
could  not  halt  for  reprisals  against  the 
franctireurs  of  the  country-side.  Its  duty 
was  to  go  forward  and  make  connection 
with  the  Scotch  and  Gurkha  troops  with 
which  it  was  brigaded.  The  Afghans 
knew  this,  and  knew,  too,  after  their  first 


1 86      DRUMS    OF  THE    FORE    AND    AFT. 

tentative  shots,  that  they  were  dealing 
with  a  raw  regiment.  Thereafter  they 
devoted  themselves  to  the  task  of  keeping 
the  Fore  and  Aft  on  the  strain.  Not  for 
anything  would  they  have  taken  equal 
liberties  with  a  seasoned  corps — with  the 
wicked  little  Gurkhas,  whose  delight  it 
was  to  lie  out  in  the  open  on  a  dark  night 
and  stalk  their  stalkers — with  the  terrible, 
big  men  dressed  in  women's  clothes,  who 
could  be  heard  praying  to  their  God  in 
the  night-watches,  and  whose  peace  of 
mind  no  amount  of  "  snipping "  could 
shake — or  with  those  vile  Sikhs,  who 
marched  so  ostentatiously  unprepared,  and 
who  dealt  out  such  grim  reward  to  those 
who  tried  to  profit  by  that  unprepared- 
ness.  This  white  regiment  was  different 
— quite  different.  It  slept  like  a  hog,  and, 
like  a  hog,  charged  in  every  direction 
when  it  was  roused.       Its  sentries  walked 


DRUMS    OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT.       itty 

with  a  footfall  that  could  be  heard  for  a 
quarter  of  a  mile;  would  fire  at  anything 
that  moved — even  a  driven  donkey — and 
when  they  had  once  fired,  could  be  scien- 
tifically "rushed  "and  laid  out  a  horror 
and  an  offense  against  the  morning  sun. 
Then  there  were  camp-followers  who 
straggled  and  could  be  cut  up  without 
fear.  Their  shrieks  would  disturb  the 
white  boys,  and  the  loss  of  their  services 
would  inconvenience  them  sorely. 

Thus,  at  every  march,  the  hidden  enemy 
became  bolder  and  the  regiment  "writhed 
and  twisted  under  attacks  it  could  not 
avenge.  The  crowning  triumph  was  a 
sudden  night-rush  ending  in  the  cutting  of 
many  tent-ropes,  the  collapse  of  the  sud- 
den canvas  and  a  glorious  knifing  of  the 
men  who  struggled  and  kicked  below.  It 
was  a  great  deed,  neatly  carried  out,  and 
it  shook  the  already  shaken  nerves  of  the 


l88       DRUMS    OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT. 

Fore  and  Aft.  All  the  courage  that  they 
had  been  required  to  exercise  up  to  this 
point  was  the  "two  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing courage;  "  and  they,  so  far,  had  only 
succeeded  in  shooting  their  comrades  and 
losing  their  sleep. 

Sullen,  discontented,  cold,  savage,  sick, 
with  their  uniforms  dulled  and  unclean, 
the  Fore  and  Aft  joined  their  brigade. 

"  I  hear  you  had  a  tough  time  of  it 
coming  up,"  said  the  brigadier.  But  when 
he  saw  the  hospital-sheets  his  face  fell. 

"  This  is  bad,"  said  he  to  himself. 
"  They're  as  rotten  as  sheep."  And  aloud 
to  the  colonel,  "  I'm  afraid  we  can't  spare 
you  just  yet.  We  want  all  we  have,  else 
I  should  have  given  you  ten  days  to 
recruit  in." 

The  colonel  winced.  "  On  my  honor, 
sir,"  he  returned,  "  there  is  not  the  least 
necessity   to   think  of  sparing  us.       My 


DRUMS    OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT.        1 89 

men  have  been  rather  mauled  and  upset 
without  a  fair  return.  They  only  want  to 
go  in  somewhere  where  they  can  see 
what's  before  them." 

"  Can't  say  I  think  much  of  the  Fore 
and  Aft,"  said  the  brigadier  in  confidence 
to  his  brigade-major.  "  They've  lost  all 
their  soldiering,  and,  by  the  trim  of  them, 
might  have  marched  through  the  country 
from  the  other  side.  A  more  fagged-out 
set  of  men  I  never  put  eyes  on." 

"  Oh,  they'll  improve  as  the  work  goes 
on.  The  parade  gloss  has  been  rubbed 
off  a  little,  but  they'll  put  on  field  polish 
before  long,"  said  the  brigade-major. 
"They've  been  mauled,  and  they  don't 
quite  understand  it." 

They  did  not.  All  the  hitting  was  on 
one  side,  and  it  was  cruelly  hard  hitting 
with  accessories  that  made  them  sick. 
There  was  also  the  real  sickness  that  laid 


IC)0       DRUMS   OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT. 

hold  of  a  strong  man  and  dragged  him 
howling  to  the  grave.  Worst  of  all,  their 
officers  knew  just  as  little  of  the  country 
as  the  men  themselves,  and  looked  as  if 
they  did.  The  Fore  and  Aft  were  in  a 
thoroughly  unsatisfactory  condition,  but 
they  believed  that  all  would  be  well  if 
they  once  got  a  fair  go-in  at  the  enemy. 
Pot-shots  up  and  down  the  valleys  were 
unsatisfactory,  and  the  bayonet  never 
seemed  to  get  a  chance.  Perhaps  it  was 
as  well,  for  a  long-limbed  Afghan  with  a 
knife  had  a  reach  of  eight  feet,  and  could 
carry  away  enough  lead  to  disable  three 
Englishmen.  The  Fore  and  Aft  would 
like  some  rifle  practice  at  the  enemy — all 
seven  hundred  rifles  blazing  together. 
That  wish  showed  the  mood  of  the  men. 
The  Gurkhas  walked  into  their  camp, 
and  in  broken,  barrack-room  English 
strove   to   fraternize   with   them;   offered 


DRUMS    OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT.        I Q I 

them  pipes  of  tobacco,  and  stood  them 
treat  at  the  -canteen.  But  the  Fore  and 
Aft,  not  knowing  much  of  the  nature  of 
the  Gurkhas,  treated  them  as  they  would 
treat  any  other  "  niggers,"  and  the  little 
men  in  green  trotted  back  to  their  firm 
friends,  the  Highlanders,  and  with  many 
grins  confided  to  them:  "That  damn  white 
regiment  no  damn  use.  Sulky — ugh!  Dirty 
— ugh!  Hya,  any  tot  for  Johnny?"  Where- 
at the  Highlanders  smote  the  Gurkhas  as 
to  the  head,  and  told  them  not  to  vilify  a 
British  regiment,  and  the  Gurkhas 
grinned  cavernously,  for  the  Highlanders 
were  their  elder  brothers  and  entitled  to 
the  privileges  of  kinship.  The  common 
soldier  who  touches  a  Gurkha  is  more 
than  likely  to  have  his  head  sliced  open. 
Three  days  later,  the  brigadier  arranged 
a. battle  according  to  the  rules  of  war  and 
the  peculiarity  of  the  African  temperament. 


I92   DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND  AFT. 

The  enemy  were  massing  in  inconvenient 
strength  among  the  hills,  and  the  moving 
of  many  green  standards  warned  him  that 
the  tribes  were  "up"  in  aid  of  the 
Afghan  regular  troops.  A  squadron  and 
a  half  of  Bengal  lancers  represented  the 
available  cavalry,  and  two  screw-guns 
borrowed  from  a  column  thirty  miles 
away,  the  artillery  at  the  general's 
disposal. 

"If  they  stand,  as  I've  a  very  strong 
notion  that  they  will,  I  fancy  we  shall  see 
an  infantry  fight  that  will  be  worth  watch- 
ing," said  the  brigadier.  "  We'll  do  it  in 
style.  Each  regiment  shall  be  played 
into  action  by  its  band,  and  we'll  hold  the 
cavalry  in  reserve." 

"  For  all  the  reserve?  "  somebody  asked. 

"For  all  the  reserve;  because  we're 
going  to  crumple  them  up,"  said  the  brig- 
adier, who  was  an  extraordinary  brigadier, 


DRUMS    OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT.        1 93 

and  did  not  believe  in  the  value  of  a 
reserve  when  dealing  with  Asiatics.  And, 
indeed,  when  you  come  to  think  of  it,  had 
the  British  army  consistently  waited  for 
reserves  in  all  its  little  affairs,  the  bound- 
aries of  our  empire  would  have  stopped 
at  Brighton  beach. 

That  battle  was  to  be  a  glorious  battle. 

The  three  regiments  debouching  from 
three  separate  gorges,  after  duly  crown- 
ing the  heights  above,  were  to  converge 
from  the  center,  left,  and  right  upon  what 
we  will  call  the  Afghan  army,  then  sta- 
tioned toward  the  lower  extremity  of  a 
flat-bottomed  valley.  Thus  it  will  be 
seen  that  three  sides  of  the  valley  prac- 
tically belonged  to  the  English,  while  the 
fourth  was  strictly  Afghan  property.  In 
the  event  of  defeat,  the  Afghans  had  the 
rocky  hills  to  fly  to,  where  the  fire  from 
the  guerilla   tribes  in   aid   would   cover 

13 


T94       DRUMS    OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT. 

their  retreat.  In  the  event  of  victory, 
these  same  tribes  would  rush  down  and 
lend  their  weight  to  the  rout  of  the 
British. 

The  screw-guns  were  to  shell  the  head 
of  each  Afghan  rush  that  was  made  in  close 
formation,  and  the  cavalry,  held  in  reserve 
in  the  right  valley,  were  to  gently  stimu- 
late the  break-up  which  would  follow  on 
the  combined  attack.  The  brigadier,  sit- 
ting upon  a  rock  overlooking  the  valley, 
would  watch  the  battle  unrolled  at  his 
feet.  The  Fore  and  Aft  would  debouch 
from  the  central  gorge,  the  Gurkhas  from 
the  left,  and  the  Highlanders  from  the 
right,  for  the  reason  that  the  left  flank  of 
the  enemy  seemed  as  though  it  required 
the  most  hammering.  It  was  not  every 
day  that  an  Afghan  force  would  take 
ground  in  the  open,  and  the  brigadier  was 
resolved  to  make  the  most  of  it. 


DRUMS    OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT.        195 

"  If  we  only  had  a  few  more  men,"  he 
said  plaintively,  "we  could  surround  the 
creatures  and  crumble  'em  up  thoroughly. 
As  it  is,  I'm  afraid  we  can  only  cut  them 
up  as  they  run.     It's  a  great  pity." 

The  Fore  and  Aft  had  enjoyed  un- 
broken peace  for  five  days,  and  were 
beginning,  in  spite  of  dysentery,  to  re- 
cover their  nerve.  But  they  were  not 
happy,  for  they  did  not  know  the  work  in 
hand,  and  had  they  known,  would  not 
have  known  how  to  do  it.  Throughout 
those  five  days  in  which  old  soldiers 
might  have  taught  them  the  craft  of  the 
game,  they  discussed  together  their  mis- 
adventures in  the  past — how  such  an  one 
was  alive  at  dawn  and  dead  ere  the  dusk, 
and  with  what  shrieks  and  struggles  such 
another  had  given  up  his  soul  under  the 
Afghan  knife.  Death  was  a  new  and 
horrible  thing  to  the  sons  of  mechanics 


I96       DRUMS    OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT. 

who  were  used  to  die  decently  of  zymotic 
disease;  and  their  careful  conservation  in 
barracks  had  done  nothing  to  make  them 
look  upon  it  with  less  dread. 

Very  early  in  the  dawn  the  bugles  be- 
gan to  blow,  and  the  Fore  and  Aft,  filled 
with  a  misguided  enthusiasm,  turned  out 
without  waiting  for  a  cup  of  coffee  and  a 
biscuit;  and  were  rewarded  by  being  kept 
under  arms  in  the  cold  while  the  other 
regiments  leisurely  prepared  for  the  fray. 
All  the  world  knows  that  it  is  ill  taking 
the  breeks  off  a  Highlander.  It  is  much 
iller  to  try  to  make  him  stir  unless  he  is 
convinced  of  the  necessity  for  haste. 

The  Fore  and  Aft  waited,  leaning  upon 
their  rifles  and  listening  to  the  protests 
of  their  empty  stomachs.  The  colonel 
did  his  best  to  remedy  the  default  of 
lining  as  soon  as  it  was  borne  in  upon 
him  that   the   affair  would  not  begin    at 


DRUMS    OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT.        1 9; 

once,  and  so  well  did  he  succeed  that  the 
coffee  was  just  ready  when — the  men 
moved  off,  their  band  leading.  Even 
then  there  had  been  a  mistake  in  time, 
and  the  Fore  and  Aft  came  out  into  the 
valley  ten  minutes  before  the  proper  hour. 
Their  band  wheeled  to  the  right  after 
reaching  the  open,  and  retired  behind  a 
little  rocky  knoll,  still  playing  while  the 
regiment  went  past. 

It  was  not  a  pleasant  sight  that  opened 
on  the  unobstructed  view,  for  the  lower 
end  of  the  valley  appeared  to  be  filled 
by  an  army  in  position — real  and  actual 
regiments  attired  in  red  coats,  and — of 
this  there  was  no  doubt — firing  Martini- 
Henri  bullets  which  cut  up  the  ground  a 
hundred  yards  in  front  of  the  leading 
company.  Over  that  pock-marked  ground 
the  regiment  had  to  pass,  and  it  opened 
the   ball   with   a  general    and    profound 


I98       DRUMS    OF    THE    FORE    AND   AFT. 

courtesy  to  the  piping  pickets;  ducking 
in  perfect  time,  as  though  it  had  been 
brazed  on  a  rod.  Being  half  capable  of 
thinking  for  itself,  it  fired  a  volley  by  the 
simple  process  of  pitching  its  rifle  into 
its  shoulder  and  pulling  the  trigger.  The 
bullets  may  have  accounted  for  some  of 
the  watchers  on  the  hill-side,  but  they  cer- 
tainly did  not  affect  the  mass  of  enemy  in 
front,  while  the  noise  of  the  rifles  drowned 
any  orders  that  might  have  been  given. 

''Good  God!"  said  the  brigadier,  sit- 
ting on  the  rock  high  above  all.  "  That 
regiment  has  spoiled  the  whole  show. 
Hurry  up  the  others,  and  let  the  screw 
guns  get  off." 

But  the  screw-guns,  in  working  round 
the  heights,  had  stumbled  upon  a  wasp's 
nest  of  a  small  mud  fort  which  they 
incontinently  shelled  at  eight  hundred 
yards,    to    the    huge  discomfort   of   the 


DRUMS   OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT.        1 99 

occupants,  who  were  unaccustomed  to 
weapons  of  such  devilish  precision. 

The  Fore  and  Aft  continued  to  go  for- 
ward, but  with  shortened  stride.  Where 
were  the  other  regiments,  and  why  did 
these  niggers  use  Martinis?  They  took 
open  order  instinctively,  lying  down  and 
firing  at  random,  rushing  a  few  paces 
forward  and  lying  down  again,  accord- 
ing to  the  regulations.  Once  in  this 
formation,  each  man  felt  himself  desper- 
ately alone,  and  edged  in  toward  his 
fellow  for  comfort's  sake. 

Then  the  crack  of  his  neighbor's  rifle 
at  his  ear  led  him  to  fire  as  rapidly  as  he 
could — again  for  the  sake  of  the  comfort 
of  the  noise.  The  reward  was  not  long 
delayed.  Five  volleys  plunged  the  files 
in  banked  smoke  impenetrable  to  the 
eye,  and  the  bullets  began  to  take  ground 
twenty   or   thirty   yards  in  front  of  the 


200       DRUMS    OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT. 

firers,    as    the    weight    of    the    bayonet 
dragged   down,   and    to   the    right   arms 

wearied  with  holding  the  kick  of  the  leap-   . 

ing  Martini.     The  company  commanders 

peered  helplessly  through  the  smoke,  the 

more  nervous  mechanically  trying  to  fan 

it  away  with  their  helmets. 

"High  and  to  the  left!"  bawled  a  cap- 
tain till  he  was  hoarse.  "No  good! 
Cease  firing,  and  let  it  drift  away  a  bit." 

Three  or  four  times  the  bugles  shrieked 
the  order,  and  when  it  was  obeyed  the 
Fore  and  Aft  looked  that  their  foe  should 
be  lying  before  them  in  mown  swaths  of 
men.  A  light  wind  drove  the  smoke  to 
leeward,  and  showed  the  enemy  still  in 
position  and  apparently  unaffected.  A 
quarter  of  a  ton  of  lead  had  been  buried 
a  furlong  in  front  of  them,  as  the  ragged 
earth  attested. 

That    was    not    demoralizing.       They 


DRUMS   OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT.       201 

were  waiting  for  the  mad  riot  to  die 
down,  and  were  firing  quietly  into  the 
heart  of  the  smoke.  A  private  of  the 
Fore  and  Aft  spun  up  his  company 
shrieking  with  agony,  another  was  kick- 
ing the  earth  and  gasping,  and  a  third, 
ripped  through  the  lower  intestines  by  a 
jagged  bullet,  was  calling  aloud  on  his 
comrades  to  put  him  out  of  his  pain. 
These  were  the  casualties,  and  they  were 
not  soothing  to  hear  or  see.  The  smoke 
cleared  to  a  dull  haze. 

Then  the  foe  began  to  shout  with  a 
great  shouting  and  a  mass — a  black  mass 
— detached  itself  from  the  main  body, 
and  rolled  over  the  ground  at  horrid 
speed.  It  was  composed  of,  perhaps, 
three  hundred  men,  who  would  shout  and 
fire  and  slash  if  the  rush  of  their  fifty 
comrades,  who  were  determined  to  die, 
carried   home.     The   fifty   were   Ghazis, 


202       DRUMS    OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT. 

half-maddened  .with  drugs  and  wholly 
mad  with  religious  fanaticism.  When 
they  rushed,  the  British  fire  ceased,  and 
in  the  lull  the  order  was  given  to  close 
ranks  and  meet  them  with  the  bayonet. 

Any  one  who  knew  the  business  could 
have  told  the  Fore  and  Aft  that  the  only 
way  of  dealing  with  a  Ghazi  rush  is  by 
volleys  at  long  ranges;  because  a  man  who 
means  to  die,  who  desires  to  die,  who  will 
gain  heaven  by  dying,  must,  in  nine  cases 
out  of  ten,  kill  a  man  who  has  a  lingering 
prejudice  in  favor  of  life  if  he  can  close 
with  the  latter.  Where  they  should  have 
closed  and  gone  forward,  the  Fore  and 
Aft  opened  out  and  skirmished,  and  where 
they  should  have  opened  out  and  fired, 
they  closed  and  waited. 

A  man  draped  from  his  blankets  half 
awake  and  unfed  is  never  in  a  pleasant 
frame  of  mind.     Nor  does  his  happiness 


DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND  AFT.   203 

increase  when    he  watches    the  whites  of 
the  eyes  of  three  hundred  six-foot  fiends 
upon    whose   beards    the  foam    is    lying, 
upon  whose  tongues  is  a  roar  of   wrath, 
and  in  whose  hands  are  three-foot  knives. 
The  Fore  and  Aft  heard  the  Gurkha 
bugles  bringing  that  regiment  forward  at 
the  double,    while   the    neighing    of   the 
Highland  pipes  came  from  the  left.  They 
strove  to   stay   where  they   were,  though 
the  bayonets  wavered  down  the  line  like 
the  oars  of  a  ragged  boat.     Then  they  felt 
body    to    body     the     amazing     physical 
strength   of  their   foes;  a   shriek  of  pain 
ended  the  rush,  and  the  knives  fell  amid 
scenes  not  to  be  told.     The  men  clubbed 
together  and  smote  blindly — as  often  as 
not  at  their  own  fellows.       Their  front 
crumpled  like  paper,  and  the  fifty  Ghazis 
passed  on;  their  backers,  now  drunk  with 
success,  fighting  as  madly  as  they. 


?04   DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND  AFT. 

Then  the  rear  ranks  were  bidden  to 
close  up,  and  the  subalterns  dashed  into 
the  stew — alone.  For  the  rear  rank  had 
heard  the  clamor  in  front,  the  yells  and 
the  howls  of  pain,  and  had  seen  the  dark 
stale  blood  that  makes  afraid.  They  were 
not  going  to  stay.  It  was  the  rushing  of 
the  camps  over  again.  Let  their  officers 
go  to  hell,  if  they  chose;  they  would  get 
away  from  the  knives. 

"Come  on!"  shrieked  the  subalterns, 
and  their  men,  cursing  them,  drew  back, 
each  closinof  into  his  neighbor  and  wheel- 
ing  round. 

Charteris  and  Devlin,  subalterns  of  the 
last  company,  faced  their  death  alone  in 
the  belief  that  their  men  would  follow. 

"You've  killed  me,  you  cowards," 
sobbed  Devlin,  and  dropped,  cut  from 
the  shoulder-strap  to  the  center  of  the 
chest,  and  a  fresh  detachment  of  his  men 


DRUMS    OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT.       205 

retreating,  always  retreating,  trampled 
him  under  foot  as  they  made  for  the 
pass  whence  they  had  emerged. 

I  kissed  her  in  the  kitchen  and  I  kissed  her  in  the 
hall. 

Child'un,  child'un,  follow  me! 
Oh,  Golly,  said  the  cook,  is  he  gwine  to  kiss  us  all? 

Halla— Halla— Halla  Hallelujah! 

The  Gurkhas  were  pouring  through 
the  left  gorge  and  over  the  heights  at 
the  double  to  the  invitation  of  their  regi- 
mental quickstep.  The  black  rocks  were 
crowned  with  dark-green  spiders  as  the 
bugles  gave  tongue  jubilantly: 

In   the   morning!     In   the  morning  by  the  bright 

light! 
When  Gabriel  blows  his  trumpet  in  the  morning! 

The  Gurkha  rear  companies  tripped 
and  blundered  over  loose  stones.  The 
front  files  halted  for  a  moment  to  take 
stock  of  the  valley  and  to  settle  stray 
boot-laces.     Then  a  happy  little  sigh  of 


206       DRUMS    OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT. 

contentment  soughed  down  the  ranks, 
and  it  was  as  though  the  land  smiled,  for 
behold  there  below  was  the  enemy,  and 
it  was  to  meet  them  that  the  Gurkhas 
had  doubled  so  hastily.  There  was  much 
enemy.  There  would  be  amusement. 
The  little  men  hitched  their  ktikris  well 
to  hand,  and  gaped  expectantly  at  their 
officers  as  terriers  grin  ere  the  stone  is 
cast  for  them  to  fetch.  The  Gurkhas' 
ground  sloped  downward  to  the  valley, 
and  they  enjoyed  a  fair  view  of  the  pro- 
ceedings. They  sat  upon  the  bowlders  to 
watch,  for  their  officers  were  not  going  to 
waste  their  wind  in  assisting  to  repulse  a 
Ghazi  rush  more  than  half  a  mile  away. 
Let  the  white  men  look  to  their  own 
front. 

"  Hi!  yi!"  said  the  Subadar  major,  who 
was  sweating  profusely.  "  Dam  fools 
yonder,    stand   close-order!     This    is    no 


DRUMS   OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT.        207 

time  for  close-order,  it's  the  time  for 
volleys.  Ugh!  "  Horrified,  amused,  and 
indignant,  the  Gurkhas  beheld  the  retire- 
ment— let  us  be  gentle — of  the  Fore  and 
Aft  with  a  running  chorus  of  oaths  and 
commentaries. 

"  They  run!  The  white  men  run! 
Colonel  Sahib,  may  we  also  do  a  little 
running?"  murmured  Runbir  Thappa,  the 
senior  jemadar. 

But  the  colonel  would  have  none  of  it. 
"  Let  the  beggars  be  cut  up  a  little," 
said  he,  wrathfully.  "  Serves  'em  right. 
They'll  be  prodded  into  facing  round  in  a 
minute."  He  looked  through  his  field- 
glasses,  and  caught  the  glint  of  an 
officer's  sword. 

"  Beating  'em  with  the  flat — damned 
conscripts!  How  the  Ghazis  are  walking 
into  them!  "  said  he. 

The  Fore  and  Aft,  heading  back,  bore 


208       DRUMS    OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT. 

with  them  their  officers.  The  narrowness 
of  the  pass  forced  tKe  mob  into  solid  for- 
mation, and  the  rear  rank  delivered  some 
sort  of  a  wavering  volley.  The  Ghazis 
drew  off,  for  they  did  not  know  what 
reserves  the  gorge  might  hide.  More- 
over, it  was  never  wise  to  chase  white 
men  too  far.  They  returned  as  wolves 
return  to  cover,  satisfied  with  the  slaugh- 
ter that  they  had  done,  and  only  stop- 
ping to  slash  at  the  wounded  on  the 
ground.  A  quarter  of  a  mile  had  the 
Fore  and  Aft  retreated,  and  now,  jammed 
in  the  pass,  was  quivering  with  pain, 
shaken  and  demoralized  with  fear,  while 
the  officers,  maddened  beyond  control, 
smote  the  men  with  the  hilts  and  the  flats 
of  their  swords. 

"  Get  back!  Get  back,  you  cowards — 
you  women!  Right  about  face — column 
of     companies,      form — you      hounds! " 


DRUMS    OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT.        2O9 

shouted  the  colonel,  and  the  subalterns 
swore  aloud.  But  the  regiment  wanted 
to  go — to  go  anywhere  out  of  the  range 
of  those  merciless  knives.  It  swayed  to 
and  fro  irresolutely  with  shouts  and  out- 
cries, while  from  the  right  the  Gurkhas 
dropped  volley  after  volley  of  cripple- 
stopper  Snider  bullets  at  long  range  into 
the  mob  of  the  Ghazis  returning  to  their 
own  troops. 

The  Fore  and  Aft  band,  though  pro- 
tected from  direct  fire  by  the  rocky  knoll 
under  which  it  had  sat  down,  fled  at  the 
first  rush.  Jakin  and  Lew  would  have 
fled  also,  but  their  short  legs  left  them 
fifty  yards  in  the  rear,  and  by  the  time 
the  band  had  mixed  with  the  regiment 
they  were  painfully  aware  that  they  would 
have  to  close  in  alone  and  unsupported. 

"  Get  back  to  that  rock,"  gasped  Jakin. 
"  They  won't  see  us  there." 

14 


2IO       DRUMS    OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT. 

And  they  returned  to  the  scattered 
instruments  of  the  band;  their  hearts 
nearly  bursting  their  ribs. 

"  Here's  a  nice  show  for  us"  said 
Jakin,  throwing  himself  full  length  on  the 
pround.  "  A  bloomin'  fine  show  for 
British  infantry!  Oh,  the  devils!  They've 
gone  an'  left  us  alone  here!  Wot'll  we 
do?" 

Lew  took  possession  of  a  cast-off  water- 
bottle,  which  naturally  was  full  of  canteen 
rum,  and  drank  till  he  coughed  again. 

"Drink,"  said  he  shortly.  "They'll 
come  back  in  a  minute  or  two — you  see." 

Jakin  drank,  but  there  was  no  sign  of 
the  regiment's  return.  They  could  hear 
a  dull  clamor  from  the  head  of  the  valley 
of  retreat,  and  saw  the  Ghazis  slink  back, 
quickening  their  pace  as  the  Gurkhas 
fired  at  them. 

"  We're  all  that's  left  of  the  band,  an' 


DRUMS    OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT.       211 

we'll  be  cut  up  as  sure  as  death,"  said 
J  akin. 

"  I'll  die  game,  then,"  said  Lew  thickly, 
fumbling  with  his  tiny  drummer's  sword. 
The  drink  was  working  on  his  brain  as  it 
was  on  Jakin's. 

"'Old  'on!  I  know  something  better  than 
fightin',"  said  Jakin,  stung  by  the  splen- 
dor of  a  sudden  thought,  due  chiefly  to 
rum.  "Tip  our  bloomin'  cowards  yonder 
the  word  to  come  back.  The  Paythan 
beggars  are  well  away.  Come  on,  Lew! 
We  won't  get  hurt.  Take  the  fife  an' 
give  me  the  drum.  The  Old  Step  for  all 
your  bloomin'  guts  are  worth!  There's 
a  few  of  our  men  coming  back  now. 
Stand  up,  ye  drunken  little  defaulter.  By 
your  right — quick  march!" 

He  slipped  the  drum-sling  over  his 
shoulder,  thrust  the  fife  into  Lew's  hand, 
and   the  two  boys   marched  out   of  the 


212       DRUMS    OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT. 

• 

cover  of  the  rock  into  the  open,  making 
a  hideous  hash  of  the  first  bars  of  the 
"  British  Grenadiers." 

As  Lew  had  said,  a  few  of  the  Fore 
and  Aft  were  coming  back  sullenly  and 
shamefacedly  under  the  stimulus  of  blows 
and  abuse;  their  red  coats  shone  at  the 
head  of  the  valley,  and  behind  them  were 
wavering  bayonets.  But  between  this 
shattered  line  and  the  enemy,  who  with 
Afghan  suspicion  feared  that  the  hasty 
retreat  meant  an  ambush,  and  had  not 
moved  therefore,  lay  half  a  mile  of  level 
ground  dotted  only  by  the  wounded. 

The  tune  settled  into  full  swing,  and 
the  boys  kept  shoulder  to  shoulder,  J  akin 
banging  the  drum  as  one  possessed. 
The  one  fife  made  a  thin  and  pitiful 
squeaking,  but  the  tune  carried  far,  even 
to  the  Gurkhas. 

"  Come  on,  you  dogs!  "  muttered  Jakin 


DRUMS    OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT.       213 

to  himself.  "Are  we  to  play  forever?" 
Lew  was  staring  straight  in  front  of  him 
and  marching  more  stiffly  than  ever  he 
had  done  on  parade. 

And  in  bitter  mockery  of  the  distant 
mob,  the  old  tune  of  the  Old  Line 
shrilled  and  rattled: 

Some  talk  of  Alexander, 

And  some  of  Hercules; 
Of  Hector  and  Lysander, 

And  such  great  names  as  these 

There  was  a  far-off  clapping  of  hands 
from  the  Gurkhas,  and  a  roar  from  the 
Highlanders  in  the  distance,  but  never  a 
shot  was  fired  by  British  or  Afghan.  The 
two  little  red  dots  moved  forward  in  the 
open  parallel  to  the  enemy's  front. 

But  of  all  the  world's  great  heroes 

There's  none  that  can  compare, 
With  a  tow-row-row-row-row-row, 
•  To  the  British  Grenadier! 


2  14       DRUMS    OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT. 

The  men  of  the  Fore  and  Aft  were  gath- 
ering thick  at  the  entrance  into  the  plain. 
The  brigadier  on  the  heights  far  above 
was  speechless  with  rage.  Still  no  move- 
ment from  the  enemy.  The  day  stayed 
to  watch  the  children. 

Jakin  halted  and  beat  the  long  roll  of 
the  assembly,  while  the  fife  squealed  de- 
spairingly. 

"  Right  about  face!  Hold  up,  Lew, 
you're  drunk,"  said  Jakin.  They  wheeled 
and  marched  back: 

Those  heroes  of  antiquity 
Ne'er  saw  a  cannon-ball, 
Nor  knew  the  force  o'  powder, 

"  Here  they  come!  "  said  Jakin.  "Go 
on,  Lew  :  " 

To  scare  their  foes  withal! 

The  Fore  and  Aft  were  pouring  out  of 
the  valley.  What  officers  had  said  to 
men  in  that  time  of   shame   and   humilia- 


DRUMS   OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT.       2  15 

tion  will  never  be  known,  for  neither  offi- 
cers nor  men  speak  of  it  now. 

"  They  are  coming  anew! "  shouted  a 
priest  among  the  Afghans.  "  Do  not  kill 
the  boys!  Take  them  alive,  and  they  shall 
be  of  our  faith." 

But  the  first  volley  had  been  fired,  and 
Lew  dropped  on  his  face.  Jakin  stood  for 
a  minute,  spun  round,  and  collapsed  as 
the  Fore  and  Aft  came  forward,  the  male- 
dictions of  their  officers  in  their  ears,  and 
in  their  hearts  the  shame  of  open  shame. 

Half  the  men  had  seen  the  drummers 
die,  and  they  made  no  sign.  They  did 
not  even  shout.  They  doubled  out 
straight  across  the  plain  in  open  order, 
and  they  did  not  fire. 

"This,"  said  the  Colonel  of  Gurkhas, 
softly,  "is  the  real  attack,  as  it  ought  to 
have  been  delivered.  Come  on,  my 
children." 


2l6       DRUMS   OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT. 

"  Ulu-lu-lu-lu!  "  squealed  the  Gurkhas, 
and  came  down  with  a  joyful  clicking  of 
kukris — those  vicious  Gurkha  knives. 

On  the  right  there  was  no  rush.  The 
Highlanders,  cannily  commending  their 
souls  to  God  (for  it  matters  as  much  to  a 
dead  man  whether  he  has  been  shot  in  a 
border  scuffle  or  at  Waterloo),  opened 
out  and  fired  according  to  their  custom; 
that  is  to  say,  without  heat  and  without 
intervals,  while  the  screw-guns,  having 
disposed  of  the  impertinent  mud  fort 
afore-mentioned,  dropped  shell  after  shell 
into  the  clusters  round  the  nickering 
green  standards  on  the  heights. 

"  Charging  is  an  unfortunate  neces- 
sity," murmured  the  color-sergeant  of  the 
right  company  of  the  Highlanders. 

"It  makes  the  men  sweer  so,  but  I  am 
thinkin'  that  it  will  come  to  a  change  if 
these   black   devils   stand   much    longer. 


DRUMS    OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT.        2  !  7 

Stewarrt,  man,  you're  firing  into  the  eye 
of  the  sun,  and  he'll  not  take  any  harm 
for  o-overnment  ammuneetion.  A  foot 
lower  and  a  great  deal  slower!  What  are 
the  English  doing?  They're  very  quiet 
there  in  the  center.     Running  again?" 

'  The  English  were  not  running.  They 
were  hacking  and  hewing  and  stabbing, 
for  though  one  white  man  is  seldom 
physically  a  match  for  an  Afghan  in  a 
sheep-skin  or  wadded  coat,  yet,  through 
the  pressure  of  many  white  men  behind, 
and  a  certain  thirst  for  revenge  in  his 
heart,  he  becomes  capable  of  doing  much 
with  both  ends  of  his  rifle.  The  Fore 
and  Aft  held  their  fire  till  one  bullet 
could  drive  through  five  or  six  men,  and 
the  front  of  the  Afghan  force  gave  on  the 
volley.  They  then  selected  their  men, 
and  slew  them  with  deep  gasps  and  short 
hacking  coughs,  and  groanings  of  leather 


2l8       DRUMS   OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT. 

belts  against  strained  bodies,  and  realized 
for  the  first  time  that  an  Afghan  attacked 
is  far  less  formidable  than  an  Afghan 
attacking;  which  fact  old  soldiers  might 
have  told  them. 

But  they  had  no  old  soldiers  in  their 
ranks. 

The  Gurkhas'  stall  at  the  bazaar  was 
the  noisiest,  for  the  men  were  engaged — 
to  a  nasty  noise  as  of  beef  being  cut  on 
the  block — with  the  kukri,  which  they 
preferred  to  the  bayonet;  well  knowing 
how  the  Afghan  hates  the  half-moon 
blade. 

As  the  Afghans  wavered,  the  green 
standards  on  the  mountain  moved  down 
to  assist  them  in  a  last  rally;  which  was 
unwise.  The  lancers  chafing  in  the  right 
gorge  had  thrice  dispatched  their  only 
subaltern  as  galloper  to  report  on  the 
progress  of  affairs.     On  the  third   occa- 


DRUMS   OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT.       219 

sion  he  returned,  with  a  bullet-graze  on 
his  knee,  swearing  strange  oaths  in  Hin- 
doostanee,  and  saying  that  all  things  were 
ready.  So  that  squadron  swung  round 
the  right  of  the  Highlanders  with  a  wicked 
whistling  of  wind  in  the  pennons  of  its 
lances,  and  fell  upon  the  remnant  just 
when,  according  to  all  the  rules  of  war,  it 
should  have  waited  for  the  foe  to  show 
more  signs  of  wavering. 

But  it  was  a  dainty  charge,  deftly 
delivered,  and  it  ended  by  the  cavalry 
finding  itself  at  the  head  of  the  pass  by 
which  the  Afghans  intended  to  retreat; 
and  down  the  track  that  the  lances  had 
made  streamed  two  companies  of  the 
Highlanders,  which  was  never  intended 
by  the  brigadier.  The  new  development 
was  successful.  It  detached  the  enemy 
from  his  base  as  a  sponge  is  torn  from  a 
rock,  and  left  him  ringed   about   with  fire 


220       DRUMS   OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT. 

in  that  pitiless  plain.  And  as  a  sponge  is 
chased  round  the  bath-tub  by  the  hand  of 
the  bather,  so  were  the  Afghans  chased 
till  they  broke  into  little  detachments 
much  more  difficult  to  dispose  of  than 
large  masses. 

"  See!  "  quoth  the  brigadier.  "  Every- 
thing has  come  as  I  arranged.  We've  cut 
their  base,  and  now  we'll  bucket  'em  to 
pieces." 

A  direct  hammering  was  all  that  the 
brigadier  had  dared  to  hope  for,  consid- 
ering the  size  of  the  force  at  his  dis 
posal;  but  men  who  stand  or  fall  by  the 
errors  of  their  opponents  may  be  for- 
given for  turning  Chance  into  Design. 
The  bucketing  went  forward  merrily. 
The  Afghan  forces  were  upon  the  run — 
the  run  of  wearied  wolves  who  snarl  and 
bite  over  their  shoulders.  The  red  lances 
dipped  by  twos  and  threes,  and,  with  a 


DRUMS    OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT.       221 

shriek,  up  rose  the  lance-butt,  like  a  spar 
on  a  stormy  sea,  as  the  trooper  cantering 
forward  cleared  his  point.  The  lancers 
kept  between  their  prey  and  the  steep  hills, 
for  all  who  could  were  trying  to  escape 
from  the  valley  of  death.  The  High- 
landers gave  the  fugitives  two  hundred 
yards'  law,  and  then  brought  them  down, 
gasping  and  choking,  ere  they  could  reach 
the  protection  of  the  bowlders  above. 
The  Gurkhas  followed  suit;  but  the  Fore 
and  Aft  were  killing  on  their  own  account, 
for  they  had  penned  a  mass  of  men  be- 
tween their  bayonets  and  a  wall  of  rock, 
and  the  flash  of  the  rifles  was  lighting 
the  wadded  coats. 

"We  can  not  hold  them,  Captain 
Sahib!"  panted  a  ressaidar  of  lancers. 
"  Let  us  try  the  carbine.  The  lance  is 
good,  but  it  wastes  time." 

They  tried   the   carbine,    and  still  the 


222       DRUMS    OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT. 

enemy  melted  away — fled  up  the  hills  by 
hundreds  when  there  were  only  twenty 
bullets  to  stop  them.  On  the  heights  the 
screw-guns  ceased  firing — they  had  run 
out  of  ammunition — and  the  brigadier 
groaned,  for  the  musketry  fire  could  not 
sufficiently  smash  the  retreat.  Long  before 
the  last  volleys  were  fired  the  litters  were 
out  in  force  looking  for  the  wounded. 
The  battle  was  over,  and,  but  for  want  of 
fresh  troops,  the  Afghans  would  have  been 
wiped  off  the  earth.  As  it  was  they 
counted  their  dead  by  hundreds,  and 
nowhere  were  the  dead  thicker  than  in 
the  track  of  the  Fore  and  Aft. 

But  the  regiment  did  not  cheer  with  the 
Highlanders,  nor  did  they  dance  uncouth 
dances  with  the  Gurkhas  among  the  dead. 
They  looked  under  their  brows  at  the 
colonel  as  they  leaned  upon  their  rifles 
and  panted. 


DRUMS   OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT.       223 

"  Get  back  to  camp,  you!  Haven't  you 
disgraced  yourself  enough  for  one  day? 
Go  and  look  to  the  wounded.  It's  all 
you're  fit  for,"  said  the  colonel.  Yet  for 
the  past  hour  the  Fore  and  Aft  had  been 
doing  all  that  mortal  commander  could 
expect.  They  had  lost  heavily  because 
they  did  not  know  how  to  set  about  their 
business  with  proper  skill,  but  they  had 
borne  themselves  gallantly,  and  this  was 
their  reward. 

A  young  and  sprightly  color-sergeant, 
who  had  begun  to  imagine  himself  a  hero, 
offered  his  water-bottle  to  a  Highlander, 
whose  tongue  was  black  with  thirst.  "  I 
drink  with  no  cowards,"  answered  the 
youngster,  huskily,  and  turning  to  a 
Gurkha,  said,  "  Hya,  Johnny!  Drink 
water  got  it?  "  The  Gurkha  grinned  and 
passed  his  bottle.  The  Fore  and  Aft  said 
no  word. 


224       DRUMS    OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT. 

They  went  back  to  camp  when  the  field 
of  strife  had  been  a  little  mopped  up  and 
made  presentable,  and  the  brigadier,  who 
saw  himself  a  knight  in  three  months,  was 
the  only  soul  who  was  complimentary  to 
them.  The  colonel  was  heart-broken  and 
the  officers  were  savage  and  sullen. 

"  Well,"  said  the  brigadier,  "they  are 
young  troops,  of  course,  and  it  was  not 
unnatural  that  they  should  retire  in  disor- 
der for  a  bit." 

"  Oh,  my  only  Aunt  Maria!"  murmured 
a  junior  staff  officer.  "  Retire  in  disorder! 
It  was  a  bully  run!" 

"  But  they  came  again  as  we  all  know," 
cooed  the  brigadier,  the  colonel's  ashy- 
white  face  before  him,  "  and  they  behaved 
as  well  as  could  possibly  be  expected. 
Behaved  beautifully,  indeed.  I  was  watch- 
ing them.  It's  not  a  matter  to  take  to 
heart,  colonel.     As  some  German  general 


DRUMS    OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT.       225 

said  of  his  men,  they  wanted  to  beshooted 
over  a  little,  that  was  all."  To  himself  he 
said: — "  Now  they're  blooded  I  can  give 
'em  responsible  work.  It's  as  well  that 
they  got  what  they  did.  Teach  'em  more 
than  half-a-dozen  rifle  flirtations,  that  will 
— later — run  alone  and  bite.  Poor  old 
colonel,  though." 

All  that  afternoon  the  heliograph 
winked  and  flickered  on  the  hills,  striving 
to  tell  the  good  news  to  a  mountain  forty 
miles  away.  And  in  the  evening  there 
arrived — dusty,  sweating,  and  sore — a  mis- 
guided correspondent  who  had  gone  out 
to  assist  at  a  trumpery  village-burning 
and  who  had  read  off  the  message  from 
afar,  cursing  his  luck  the  while. 

"  Let's  have  the  details  somehow — as 
full  as  ever  you  can,  please.  It's  the  first 
time  I've  ever  been  left  this  campaign," 
said  the  correspondent   to  the  brigadier; 


2  26       DRUMS   OF    THE    FORE   AND    AFT. 

and  the  brigadier,  nothing  loath,  told  him 
how  an  army  of  communication  had  been 
crumpled  up,  destroyed,  and  all  but  anni- 
hilated by  the  craft,  strategy,  wisdom,  and 
foresight  of  the  brigadier. 

But  some  say,  and  among  these  be  the 
Gurkhas  who  watched  on  the  hill-side, 
that  that  battle  was  won  by  J  akin  and 
Lew,  whose  little  bodies  were  borne  up 
just  in  time  to  fit  two  gaps  at  the  head  of 
the  big  ditch -grave  for  the  dead  under 
the  heights  of  Jagai. 


THE    END. 


AMERICAN    NOTES 


AMERICAN  NOTES. 


AT   THE    GOLDEN    GATE. 


"Serene,  indifferent  to  fate, 
Thou  sittest  at  the  Western  Gate  ; 
Thou  seest  the  white  seas  fold  their  tents, 
Oh,  warder  of  two  continents  ; 
Thou  drawest  all  things,  small  and  great, 
To  thee,  beside  the  Western  Gate." 

This  is  what  Bret  Harte  has  written  of 
the  great  city  of  San  Francisco,  and  for 
the  past  fortnight  I  have  been  wondering 
what  made  him  do  it. 

There  is  neither  serenity  nor  indiffer- 
ence to  be  found  in  these  parts ;  and  evil 
would   it   be   for    the   continents   whose 

(231) 


232 


AMERICAN   NOTES. 


wardship  were  intrusted  to  so  reckless  a 
guardian. 

Behold  me  pitched  neck-and-crop  from 
twenty  days  of  the  high  seas  into  the 
whirl  of  California,  deprived  of  any  guid- 
ance, and  left  to  draw  my  own  conclusions. 
Protect  me  from  the  wrath  of  an  outraged 
community  if  these  letters  be  ever  read  by 
American  eyes  !  San  Francisco  is  a  mad 
city — inhabited  for  the  most  part  by 
perfectly  insane  people,  whose  women  are 
of  a  remarkable  beauty. 

When  the  "  City  of  Pekin "  steamed 
through  the  Golden  Gate,  I  saw  with 
great  joy  that  the  block-house  which 
guarded  the  mouth  of  the  "finest  harbor 
in  the  world,  sir,"  could  be  silenced  by  two 
gunboats  from  Hong  Kong  with  safety, 
comfort,  and  dispatch.  Also,  there  was 
not  a  single  American  vessel  of  war  in  the 
harbor. 


AT  THE  GOLDEN   GATE.  233 

This  may  sound  blood-thirsty  ;  but  re- 
member, I  had  come  with  a  grievance 
upon  me  —  the  grievance  of  the  pirated 
English  books. 


A   REPORTER. 

Then  a  reporter  leaped  aboard,  and  ere 
I  could  gasp  held  me  in  his  toils.  He 
pumped  me  exhaustively  while  I  was  get- 
ting ashore,  demanding  of  all  things  in 
the  world  news  about  Indian  journalism. 
It  is  an  awful  thing  to  enter  a  new  land 
with  a  new  lie  on  your  lips.  I  spoke  the 
truth  to  the  evil-minded  Custom  House 
man  who  turned  my  most  sacred  raiment 
on  a  floor  composed  of  stable  refuse  and 
pine  splinters;  but  the  reporter  over- 
whelmed me  not  so  much  by  his  poignant 
audacity  as  his  beautiful  ignorance.  I  am 
sorry  now  that  I  did  not  tell  him  more 
lies  as  I  passed  into  a  city  of  three  hun- 


234 


AMERICAN   NOTES. 


dred  thousand  white  men.  Think  of  it ! 
Three  hundred  thousand  white  men  and 
women  gathered  in  one  spot,  walking 
upon  real  pavements  in  front  of  plate- 
glass-windowed  shops,  and  talking  some- 
thing that  at  first  hearing  was  not  very 
different  from  English.  It  was  only  when 
I  had  tangled  myself  up  in  a  hopeless 
maze  of  small  wooden  houses,  dust,  street 
refuse,  and  children  who  played  with 
empty  kerosene  tins,  that  I  discovered 
the  difference  of  speech. 

"  You  want  to  go  to  the  Palace  Hotel  ?" 
said  an  affable  youth  on  a  dray.  "  What 
in  hell  are  you  doing  here,  then  ?  This  is 
about  the  lowest  ward  in  the  city.  Go 
six  blocks  north  to  corner  of  Geary  and 
Markey,  then  walk  around  till  you  strike 
corner  of  Gutter  and  Sixteenth,  and  that 
brings  you  there." 

I  do  not  vouch  for  the  literal  accuracy 


AT  THE  GOLDEN   GATE. 


235 


of  these  directions,  quoting  but  from  a 
disordered  memory. 

"Amen,"  I  said.  "But  who  am  I  that 
I  should  strike  the  corners  of  such  as  you 
name?  Peradventure  they  be  gentlemen 
of  repute,  and  might  hit  back.  Bring  it 
down  to  dots,  my  son." 

I  thought  he  would  have  smitten  me, 
but  he  didn't.  He  explained  that  no  one 
ever  used  the  word  street,  and  that  every 
one  was  supposed  to  know  how  the  streets 
ran,  for  sometimes  the  names  were  upon 
the  lamps  and  sometimes  they  weren't. 
Fortified  with  these  directions,  I  proceeded 
till  I  found  a  mighty  street,  full  of  sump- 
tuous buildings  four  and  five  stories  high, 
but  paved  with  rude  cobblestones,  after 
the  fashion  of  the  year  1. 


THE    CABLE   CAR. 
Here   a  tram-car,  without  any  visible 


236  AMERICAN   NOTES. 

means  of  support,  slid  stealthily  behind 
me  and  nearly  struck  me  in  the  back. 
This  was  the  famous  cable  car  of  San 
Francisco,  which  runs  by  gripping  an  end- 
less wire  rope  sunk  in  the  ground,  and  of 
which  I  will  tell  you  more  anon.  A 
hundred  yards  farther  there  was  a  slight 
commotion  in  the  street,  a  gathering 
together  of  three  or  four,  something  that 
glittered  as  it  moved  very  swiftly.  A 
ponderous  Irish  gentleman,  with  priest's 
cords  in  his  hat  and  a  small  nickel-plated 
badge  on  his  fat  bosom,  emerged  from  the 
knot  supporting  a  Chinaman  who  had 
been  stabbed  in  the  eye  and  was  bleeding 
like  a  pig.  The  by-standers  went  their 
ways,  and  the  Chinaman,  assisted  by  the 
policeman,  his  own.  Of  course  this  was 
none  of  my  business,  but  I  rather  wanted 
to  know  what  had  happened  to  the 
gentleman   who  had  dealt  the  stab.     It 


AT   THE   GOLDEN   GATE.  237 

said  a  great  deal  for  the  excellence  of 
the  municipal  arrangement  of  the  town 
that  a  surging  crowd  did  not  at  once 
block  the  street  to  see  what  was  going 
forward.  I  was  the  sixth  man  and  the 
last  who  assisted  at  the  performance,  and 
my  curiosity  was  six  times  the  greatest. 
Indeed,  I  felt  ashamed  of  showing  it. 


THE  HOTEL  CLERK. 
There  were  no  more  incidents  till  I 
reached  the  Palace  Hotel,  a  seven-storied 
warren  of  humanity  with  a  thousand 
rooms  in  it.  All  the  travel  books  will 
tell  you  about  hotel  arrangements  in  this 
country.  They  should  be  seen  to  be  ap- 
preciated. Understand  clearly — and  this 
letter  is  written  after  a  thousand  miles  of 
experiences  —  that  money  will  not  buy 
you  service  in  the  West.  When  the 
hotel  clerk  —  the  man  who  awards  your 


238  AMERICAN   NOTES. 

room  to  you  and  who  is  supposed  to  give 
you  information  —  when  that  resplendent 
individual  stoops  to  attend  to  your  wants, 
he  does  so  whistling  or  humming  or  pick- 
ing his  teeth,  or  pauses  to  converse  with 
some  one  he  knows.  These  perform- 
ances, I  gather,  are  to  impress  upon  you 
that  he  is  a  free  man  and  your  equal. 
From  his  general  appearance  and  the 
size  of  his  diamonds  he  ought  to  be  your 
superior.  There  is  no  necessity  for  this 
swaggering  self-consciousness  of  freedom. 
Business  is  business,  and  the  man  who  is 
paid  to  attend  to  a  man  might  reason- 
ably devote  his  whole  attention  to  the 
job.  Out  of  office  hours  he  can  take  his 
coach  and  four  and  pervade  society  if  he 
pleases. 

In  a  vast  marble-paved  hall,  under  the 
glare  of  an  electric  light,  sat  forty  or  fifty 
men,  and  for  their  use  and  amusement 


AT  THE   GOLDEN   GATE.  239 

were  provided  spittoons  of  infinite  capac- 
ity and  generous  gape.  Most  of  the  men 
wore  frock  coats  and  top  hats  —  the 
things  that  we  in  India  put  on  at  a 
wedding-breakfast,  if  we  possess  them  — 
but  they  all  spat.  They  spat  on  principle. 
The  spittoons  were  on  the  staircases,  in 
each  bedroom  —  yea,  and  in  chambers 
even  more  sacred  than  these.  They 
chased  one  into  retirement,  but  they  blos- 
somed in  chiefest  splendor  round  the  bar, 
and  they  were  all  used,  every  reeking  one 
of  them. 


ANSWERS    MENDACIOUS   AND   EVASIVE. 

Just  before  I  began  to  feel  deathly  sick 
another  reporter  grappled  me.  What  he 
wanted  to  know  was  the  precise  area  of 
India  in  square  miles.  I  referred  him 
to  Whittaker.  He  had  never  heard  of 
Whittaker.     He  wanted  it  from  my  own 


240 


AMERICAN   NOTES. 


mouth,  and  I  would  not  tell  him.  Then 
he  swerved  off,  just  like  the  other  man, 
to  details  of  journalism  in  our  own  coun- 
try. I  ventured  to  suggest  that  the  in- 
terior economy  of  a  paper  most  concerned 
the  people  who  worked  it. 

"That's  the  very  thing  that  interests 
us,1'  he  said.  "  Have  you  got  reporters 
anything  like  our  reporters  on  Indian 
newspapers  ?" 

"  We  have  not,"  I  said,  and  suppressed 
the  "thank  God"  rising  to  my  lips. 

"  Why  haven't  you  ?"  said  he. 

"  Because  they  would  die,"  I  said. 

It  was  exactly  like  talking  to  a  child — 
a  very  rude  little  child.  He  would  begin 
.  almost  every  sentence  with,  "Now  tell  me 
something  about  India,1'  and  would  turn 
aimlessly  from  one  question  to  the  other 
without  the  least  continuity.  I  was  not 
angry,  but  keenly  interested.     The  man 


AT   THE    GOLDEN   GATE.  24 1 

was  a  revelation  tome.  To  his  questions  I 
returned  answers  mendacious  and  evasive. 
After  all,  it  really  did  not  matter  what  I 
said.  He  could  not  understand.  I  can 
only  hope  and  pray  that  none  of  the 
readers  of  the  "Pioneer"  will  ever  see 
that  portentous  interview.  The  man 
made  me  out  to  be  an  idiot  several  sizes 
more  driveling  than  my  destiny  intended, 
and  the  rankness  of  his  ignorance  man- 
aged to  distort  the  few  poor  facts  with 
which  I  supplied  him  into  large  and  elab- 
orate lies.  Then,  thought  I,  "the  mat- 
ter of  American  journalism  shall  be 
looked  into  later  on.  At  present  I  will 
enjoy  myself." 


ABOUT  THE  CITY. 

No  man  rose  to  tell  me  what  were  the 
lions  of  the  place.  No  one  volunteered 
any    sort    of    conveyance.     I    was   abso- 


16 


242 


AMERICAN   NOTES. 


lutely  alone  in  this  big  city  of  white  folk. 
By  instinct  I  sought  refreshment,  and 
came  upon  a  bar-room  full  of  bad  Salon 
pictures,  in  which  men  with  hats  on  the 
backs  of  their  heads  were  wolfing  food 
from  a  counter.  It  was  the  institution  of 
the  "free  lunch"  I  had  struck.  You  paid 
for  a  drink  and  got  as  much  as  you 
wanted  to  eat.  For  something  less  than 
a  rupee  a  day  a  man  can  feed  himself 
sumptuously  in  San  Francisco,  even 
though  he  be  a  bankrupt.  Remember 
this  if  ever  you  are  stranded  in  these 
parts. 

Later  I  began  a  vast  but  unsystematic 
exploration  of  the  streets.  I  asked  for  no 
names.  It  was  enough  that  the  pave- 
ments were  full  of  white  men  and  women, 
the  streets  clanging  with  traffic,  and  that 
the  restful  roar  of  a  great  city  rang  in  my 
ears.     The  cable  cars  glided  to  all  points 


AT  THE  GOLDEN  GATE. 


243 


of  the  compass  at  once.  I  took  them  one 
by  one  till  I  could  go  no  farther.  San 
Francisco  has  been  pitched  down  on  the 
sand  bunkers  of  the  Bikaneer  desert. 
About  one-fourth  of  it  is  ground  re- 
claimed from  the  sea — any  old-timers  will 
tell  you  all  about  that.  The  remainder  is 
just  ragged,  unthrifty  sand  hills,  to-day 
pegged  down  by  houses. 


UP  AND    DOWN   THE   SAND   HILLS. 

From  an  English  point  of  view  there 
has  not  been  the  least  attempt  at  grading 
those  hills,  and  indeed  you  might  as 
well  try  to  grade  the  hillocks  of  Sind. 
The  cable  cars  have  for  all  practical  pur- 
poses made  San  Francisco  a  dead  level. 
They  take  no  count  of  rise  or  fall,  but 
slide  equably  on  their  appointed  courses 
from  one  end  to  the  other  of  a  six-mile 
street.     They  turn  corners  almost  at  right 


244 


AMERICAN   NOTES. 


angles,  cross  other  lines,  and  for  aught  I 
know  may  run  up  the  sides  of  houses. 
There  is  no  visible  agency  of  their  flight, 
but  once  in  awhile  you  shall  pass  a  five- 
storied  building  humming  with  machinery 
that  winds  up  an  everlasting  wire  cable, 
and  the  initiated  will  tell  you  that  here  is 
the  mechanism.  I  gave  up  asking  ques- 
tions. If  it  pleases  Providence  to  make  a 
car  run  up  and  down  a  slit  in  the  ground 
for  many  miles,  and  if  for  twopence  half- 
penny I  can  ride  in  that  car,  why  shall  I 
seek  the  reasons  of  the  miracle  ?  Rather 
let  me  look  out  of  the  windows  till  the 
shops  give  place  to  thousands  and  thou- 
sands of  little  houses  made  of  wood 
(to  imitate  stone),  each  house  just  big 
enough  for  a  man  and  his  family.  Let 
me  watch  the  people  in  the  cars  and  try 
to  find  out  in  what  manner  they  differ 
from  us,  their  ancestors. 


AT   THE   GOLDEN   GATE. 


245 


It  grieves  me  now  that  I  cursed  them 
(in  the  matter  of  book  piracy),  because  I 
perceived  that  my  curse  is  working  and 
that  their  speech  is  becoming  a  horror 
already.  They  delude  themselves  into 
the  belief  that  they  talk  English  —  the 
English  —  and  I  have  already  been  pitied 
for  speaking  with  "an  English  accent." 
The  man  who  pitied  me  spoke,  so  far  as 
I  was  concerned,  the  language  of  thieves. 
And  they  all  do.  Where  we  put  the 
accent  forward  they  throw  it  back,  and 
vice  versa;  where  we  give  the  long  "a" 
they  use  the  short,  and  words  so  simple 
as  to  be  past  mistaking  they  pronounce 
somewhere  up  in  the  dome  of  their  heads. 
How  do  these  things  happen  ?  Oliver 
Wendell  Holmes  says  that  the  Yankee 
school-marm,  the  cider  and  the  salt  cod- 
fish of  the  Eastern  States,  are  responsible 
for  what  he  calls  a  nasal  accent.      I  know 


246  AMERICAN  NOTES. 

better.  They  stole  books  from  across  the 
water  without  paying  for  'em,  and  the 
snort  of  delight  was  fixed  in  their  nostrils 
forever  by  a  just  Providence.  That  is 
why  they  talk  a  foreign  tongue  to-day. 

"Cats  is  dogs,  and  rabbits  is  dogs,  and 
so's  parrots.  But  this  'ere  tortoise  is  an 
insect,  so  there  ain't  no  charge,"  as  the 
old  porter  said. 

A  Hindoo  is  a  Hindoo  and  a  brother 
to  the  man  who  knows  his  vernacular. 
And  a  Frenchman  is  French,  because  he 
speaks  his  own  language.  But  the  Ameri- 
can has  no  language.  He  is  dialect, 
slang,  provincialism,  accent,  and  so  forth. 
Now  that  I  have  heard  their  voices, 
all  the  beauty  of  Bret  Harte  is  being 
ruined  for  me,  because  I  find  myself  catch- 
ing, through  the  roll  of  his  rhythmical 
prose,  the  cadence  of  his  peculiar  father- 
land.    Get  an    American    lady   to    read 


AT   THE   GOLDEN   GATE.  247 

to  you  "How  Santa  Claus  Came  to 
Simpson's  Bar,"  and  see  how  much  is, 
under  her  tongue,  left  of  the  beauty  of 
the  original. 

But  I  am  sorry  for  Bret  Harte.  It 
happened  this  way.  A  reporter  asked 
me  what  I  thought  of  the  city,  and  I 
made  answer  suavely  that  it  was  hallowed 
ground  to  me,  because  of  Bret  Harte. 
That  was  true. 

"Well,"  said  the  reporter,  "Bret  Harte 
claims  California,  but  California  don't 
claim  Bret  Harte.  He's  been  so  long  in 
England  that  he's  quite  English.  Have 
you  seen  our  cracker  factories  or  the  new 
offices  of  the  '  Examiner'  ?" 

He  could  not  understand  that  to  the 
outside  world  the  city  was  worth  a  great 
deal  less  than  the  man.  I  never  intended 
to  curse  the  people  with  a  provincialism 
so  vast  as  this. 


248 


AMERICAN   NOTES. 


THE  CLIFF  HOUSE. 

But  let  us  return  to  our  sheep  —  which 
means  the  sea  lions  of  the  Cliff  House. 
They  are  the  great  show  of  San  Fran- 
cisco. You  take  a  train  which  pulls  up 
the  middle  of  the  street  (it  killed  two 
people  the  day  before  yesterday,  being 
unbraked  and  driven  absolutely  regard- 
less of  consequences),  and  you  pull  up 
somewhere  at  the  back  of  the  city  on  the 
Pacific  beach.  Originally  the  cliffs  and 
their  approaches  must  have  been  pretty, 
but  they  have  been  so  carefully  defiled 
with  advertisements  that  they  are  now 
one  big  blistered  abomination.  A  hun- 
dred yards  from  the  shore  stood  a  big 
rock  covered  with  the  carcasses  of  the 
sleek  sea-beasts,  who  roared  and  rolled 
and  walloped  in  the  spouting  surges.  No 
bold  man  had  painted  the  creatures  sky- 
blue  or  advertised  newspapers   on    their 


AT   THE   GOLDEN   GATE.  249 

backs,  wherefore  they  did  not  match  the 
landscape,  which  was  chiefly  hoarding. 
Some  day,  perhaps,  whatever  sort  of  gov- 
ernment may  obtain  in  this  country  will 
make  a  restoration  of  the  place  and  keep 
it  clean  and  neat.  At  present  the  sov- 
ereign people,  of  whom  I  have  heard  so 
much  already,  are  vending  cherries  and 
painting  the  virtues  of  "  Little  Bile 
Beans  "  all  over  it. 


ON  KEARNEY  STREET. 

Night  fell  over  the  Pacific,  and  the 
white  sea-fog  whipped  through  the 
streets,  dimming  the  splendors  of  the 
electric  lights.  It  is  the  use  of  this  city, 
her  men  and  women  folk,  to  parade  be- 
tween the  hours  of  eight  and  ten  a  cer- 
tain street  called  Kearney  Street,  where 
the  finest  shops  are  situated.  Here  the 
click  of  high  heels  on    the    pavement  is 


250 


AMERICAN   NOTES. 


loudest,  here  the  lights  are  brightest,  and 
here  the  thunder  of  the  traffic  is  most 
overwhelming.  I  watched  young  Cali- 
fornia, and  saw  that  it  was,  at  least,  ex- 
pensively dressed,  cheerful  in  manner, 
and  self-asserting  in  conversation.  Also 
the  women  were  very  fair.  Perhaps 
eighteen  days  aboard  ship  had  something 
to  do  with  my  unreserved  admiration. 
The  maidens  were  of  generous  build, 
large,  well  groomed,  and  attired  in  rai- 
ment that  even  to  my  unexperienced  eyes 
must  have  cost  much.  Kearney  Street 
at  nine  o'clock  levels  all  distinctions  of 
rank  as  impartially  as  the  grave.  Again 
and  again  I  loitered  at  the  heels  of  a 
couple  of  resplendent  beings,  only  to 
overhear,  when  I  expected  the  level  voice 
of  culture,  the  staccato  "Sez  he,"  lt  Sez  I  " 
that  is  the  mark  of  the  white  servant  girl 
all  the  world  over. 


AT   THE   GOLDEN   GATE. 


251 


THE    OLD    ACQUAINTANCE. 

This  was  depressing  because,  in  spite 
of  all  that  goes  to  the  contrary,  fine 
feathers  ought  to  make  fine  birds.  There 
was  wealth  —  unlimited  wealth  —  in  the 
streets,  but  not  an  accent  that  would  not 
have  been  dear  at  fifty  cents.  Where- 
fore, revolving  in  my  mind  that  these  folk 
were  barbarians,  I  was  presently  enlight- 
ened and  made  aware  that  they  also  were 
the  heirs  of  all  the  ages,  and  civilized 
after  all.  There  appeared  before  me  an 
affable  stranger  of  prepossessing  appear- 
ance, with  a  blue  and  an  innocent  eye. 
Addressing  me  by  name,  he  claimed  to 
have  met  me  in  New  York,  at  the  Wind- 
sor, and  to  this  claim  I  gave  a  qualified 
assent.  I  did  not  remember  the  fact,  but 
since  he  was  so  certain  of  it,  why,  then — 
I  waited  developments. 

"And  what  did  you  think  of  Indiana 


2c2  AMERICAN   NOTES. 

when  you  came  through  ?  "  was  the  next 
question. 

It  revealed  the  mystery  of  previous 
acquaintance  and  one  or  two  other  things. 
With  reprehensible  carelessness  my  friend 
of  the  light-blue  eye  had  looked  up  the 
name  of  his  victim  in  the  hotel  register, 
and  read  "Indiana  "  for  India. 

The  provincialism  with  which  I  had 
cursed  his  people  extended  to  himself. 
He  could  not  imagine  an  Englishman 
coming  through  the  States  from  West  to 
East  instead  of  by  the  regularly  ordained 
route.  My  fear  was  that  in  his  delight  in 
finding  me  so  responsive  he  would  make 
remarks  about  New  York  and  the  Wind- 
sor which  I  could  not  understand.  And, 
indeed,  he  adventured  in  this  direction 
once  or  twice,  asking  me  what  I  thought 
of  such  and  such  streets,  which  from  his 
tone   I  gathered  to  be  anything  but  re- 


AT   THE   GOLDEN   GATE. 


253 


spectable.  It  is  trying  to  talk  unknown 
New  York  in  almost  unknown  San  Fran- 
cisco. But  my  friend  was  merciful.  He 
protested  that  I  was  one  after  his  own 
heart,  and  pressed  upon  me  rare  and  cu- 
rious drinks  at  more  than  one  bar.  These 
drinks  I  accepted  with  gratitude,  as  also 
the  cigars  with  which  his  pockets  were 
stored.  He  would  show  me  the  life  of 
the  city.  Having  no  desire  to  watch  a 
weary  old  play  again,  I  evaded  the  offer 
and  received  in  lieu  of  the  devil's  instruc- 
tion much  coarse  flattery.  Curiously 
constituted  is  the  soul  of  man.  Knowing 
how  and  where  this  man  lied,  waiting 
idly  for  the  finale,  I  was  distinctly  con- 
scious, as  he  bubbled  compliments  in  my 
ear,  of  soft  thrills  of  gratified  pride  steal- 
ing from  hat-rim  to  boot-heels.  I  was 
wise,  quoth  he  —  anybody  could  see  that 
with  half  an  eye  ;  sagacious,  versed  in  the 


254 


AMERICAN   NOTES. 


ways  of  the  world,  an  acquaintance  to  be 
desired  ;  one  who  had  tasted  the  cup  of 
life  with  discretion. 


THE   BUNCO   STEERER. 

All  this  pleased  me,  and  in  a  measure 
numbed  the  suspicion  that  was  thoroughly 
aroused.  Eventually  the  blue-eyed  one 
discovered,  nay,  insisted,  that  I  had  a 
taste  for  cards  (this  was  clumsily  worked 
in,  but  it  was  my  fault,  for  in  that  I  met 
him  half-way  and  allowed  him  no  chance 
of  good  acting).  Hereupon  I  laid  my 
head  upon  one  side  and  simulated  unholy 
wisdom,  quoting  odds  and  ends  of  poker 
talk,  all  ludicrously  misapplied.  My 
friend  kept  his  countenance  admirably, 
and  well  he  might,  for  five  minutes  later 
we  arrived,  always  by  the  purest  of 
chance,  at  a  place  where  we  could  play 


AT   THE   GOLDEN   GATE. 


255 


cards  and  also  frivol  with  Louisiana  State 
lottery  tickets.     Would  I  play  ? 

"  Nay,"  said  I,  "  for  to  me  cards  have 
neither  meaning  nor  continuity;  but  let  us 
assume  that  I  am  going  to  play.  How 
would  you  and  your  friends  get  to  work  ? 
Would  you  play  a  straight  game,  or  make 
me  drunk,  or  —  well,  the  fact  is,  I'm  a 
newspaper  man,  and  I'd  be  much  obliged 
if  you'd  let  me  know  something  about 
bunco  steering." 

My  blue-eyed  friend  erected  himself 
into  an  obelisk  of  profanity.  He  cursed 
me  by  his  gods  —  the  right  and  left  bower ; 
he  even  cursed  the  very  good  cigars  he 
had  given  me.  But,  the  storm  over,  he 
quieted  down  and  explained.  I  apolo- 
gized for  causing  him  to  waste  an  even- 
ing, and  we  spent  a  very  pleasant  time 
together. 

Inaccuracy,    provincialism,    and   a   too 


256 


AMERICAN   NOTES. 


hasty  rushing  to  conclusions,  were  the 
rocks  that  he  had  split  on,  but  he  got  his 
revenge  when  he  said  : 

"  How  would  I  play  with  you  ?  From 
all  the  poppycock  (Anglice  bosh)  you 
talked  about  poker,  I'd  ha'  played  a 
straight  game,  and  skinned  you.  I 
wouldn't  have  taken  the  trouble  to  make 
you  drunk.  You  never  knew  anything  of 
the  game,  but  how  I  was  mistaken  in  go- 
ing to  work  on  you  makes  me  sick." 

He  glared  at  me  as  though  I  had  done 
him  an  injury.  To-day  I  know  how  it  is 
that  year  after  year,  week  after  week,  the 
bunco  steerer,  who  is  the  confidence  trick 
and  the  card-sharper  man  of  other  climes, 
secures  his  prey.  He  clavers  them  over 
with  flattery  as  the  snake  clavers  the 
rabbit.  The  incident  depressed  me,  be- 
cause it  showed  I  had  left  the  innocent 
East   far    behind   and    was   come   to    a 


AT   THE   GOLDEN    GATE.  257 

country  where  a  man  must  look  out  for 

himself.     The  very   hotels  bristled   with 

notices  about  keeping  my  door  locked  and 

depositing  my  valuables  in  a  safe.     The 

'  white  man  in  a  lump   is  bad.     Weeping 

softly  for  O-Toyo  (little  I  knew  then  that 

my  heart  was  to  be  torn  afresh  from  my 

bosom),  I  fell  asleep  in  the  clanging  hotel. 

Next  morning  I   had  entered  upon  the 

deferred     inheritance.       There     are    no 

princes  in  America- — at  least  with  crowns 

on   their  heads  —  but  a  generous-minded 

member  of  some  royal  family  received  my 

letter  of  introduction.     Ere  the  day  closed 

I   was  a  member  of  the  two  clubs,  and 

booked  for  many  engagements  to  dinner 

and  party.     Now,  this  prince,  upon  whose 

financial  operations  be  continual  increase, 

had   no  reason,  nor  had  the  others,   his 

friends,  to  put  himself  out  for  the  sake  of 

one  Briton  more  or  less,  but  he  rested  not 
17 


258  AMERICAN   NOTES. 

till  he  had  accomplished  all  in  my  behalf 
that  a  mother  could  think  of  for  her 
debutante  daughter. 


THE  BOHEMIAN  CLUB. 

Do  you  know  the  Bohemian  Club  of 
San  Francisco  ?  They  say  its  fame  ex- 
tends over  the  world.  It  was  created, 
somewhat  on  the  lines  of  the  Savage,  by 
men  who  wrote  or  drew  things,  and  has 
blossomed  into  most  unrepublican  luxury. 
The  ruler  of  the  place  is  an  owl —  an  owl 
standing  upon  a  skull  and  cross-bones, 
showing  forth  grimly  the  wisdom  of  the 
man  of  letters  and  the  end  of  his  hopes 
for  immortality.  The  owl  stands  on  the 
staircase,  a  statue  four  feet  high  ;  is  carved 
in  the  wood-work,  flutters  on  the  frescoed 
ceiling,  is  stamped  on  the  note-paper,  and 
hangs  on   the   walls.      He  is  an   ancient 


AT   THE   GOLDEN   GATE.  259 

and  honorable  bird.  Under  his  wing 
'twas  my  privilege  to  meet  with  white 
men  whose  lives  were  not  chained  down 
to  routine  of  toil,  who  wrote  magazine 
articles  instead  of  reading  them  hurriedly 
in  the  pauses  of  office-work,  who  painted 
pictures  instead  of  contenting  themselves 
with  cheap  etchings  picked  up  at  another 
man's  sale  of  effects.  Mine  were  all  the 
rights  of  social  intercourse,  craft  by  craft, 
that  India,  stony-hearted  step-mother  of 
collectors,  has  swindled  us  out  of.  Tread- 
ing soft  carpets  and  breathing  the  incense 
of  superior  cigars,  I  wandered  from  room 
to  room  studying  the  paintings  in  which 
the  members  of  the  club  had  caricatured 
themselves,  their  associates,  and  their 
aims.  There  was  a  slick  French  audacity 
about  the  workmanship  of  these  men  of 
toil  unbending  that  went  straight  to  the 
heart  of  the  beholder.     And  yet  it  was 


26o  AMERICAN   NOTES. 

not  altogether  French.  A  dry  grimness 
of  treatment,  almost  Dutch,  marked  the 
difference.  The  men  painted  as  they 
spoke  —  with  certainty.  The  club  indulges 
in  revelries  which  it  calls  "jinks" — high 
and  low,  at  intervals-- and  each  of  these 
gatherings  is  faithfully  portrayed  in  oils 
by  hands  that  know  their  business.  In 
this  club  were  no  amateurs  spoiling  can- 
vas, because  they  fancied  they  could 
handle  oils  without  knowledge  of  shadows 
or  anatomy — no  gentleman  of  leisure 
ruining  the  temper  of  publishers  and  an 
already  ruined  market  with  attempts  to 
write,  "because  everybody  writes  some- 
thing these  days." 


PLEASANT  HOURS. 


My  hosts  were  working,  or  had  worked 
for  their  daily  bread  with  pen  or  paint, 
and  their  talk  for  the  most  part  was  of 


AT   THE   GOLDEN   GATE.  26  I 

the  shop  —  shoppy  —  that  is  to  say,  de- 
lightful. They  extended  a  large  hand  of 
welcome,  and  were  as  brethren,  and  I  did 
homage  to  the  owl  and  listened  to  their 
talk.  An  Indian  club  about  Christmas- 
time will  yield,  if  properly  worked,  an 
abundant  harvest  of  queer  tales ;  but  at  a 
gathering  of  Americans  from  the  utter- 
most ends  of  their  own  continent,  the 
tales  are  larger,  thicker,  more  spinous, 
and  even  more  azure  than  any  Indian  va- 
riety. Tales  of  the  war  I  heard  told  by 
an  ex-officer  of  the  South  over  his  even- 
ing drink  to  a  colonel  of  the  Northern 
army,  my  introducer,  who  had  served  as  a 
trooper  in  the  Northern  Horse,'  throw- 
ing in  emendations  from  time  to  time. 
"Tales  of  the  Law,'1  which  in  this  coun- 
try is  an  amazingly  elastic  affair,  followed 
from  the  lips  of  a  judge.  Forgive  me  for 
recording  one  tale  that  struck  me  as  new. 


262  AMERICAN   NOTES. 

It   may    interest   the    up-country   Bar   in 
India. 

Once  upon  a  time  there  was  a  Samuel- 
son,  a  young  lawyer,  who  feared  not  God, 
neither  regarded  the  Bench.  (Name,  age, 
and  town  of  the  man  were  given  at  great 
length.)  To  him  no  case  had  ever  come 
as  a  client,  partly  because  he  lived  in  a 
district  where  lynch  law  prevailed,  and 
partly  because  the  most  desperate  pris- 
oner shrunk  from  intrusting  himself  to 
the  mercies  of  a  phenomenal  stammerer. 
But  in  time  there  happened  an  aggra- 
vated murder — so  bad,  indeed,  that  by 
common  consent  the  citizens  decided,  as 
a  prelude  to  lynching,  to  give  the  real 
law  a  chance.  They  could,  in  fact,  gam- 
bol round  that  murder.  They  met  —  the 
court  in  its  shirt-sleeves — and  against  the 
raw  square  of  the  Court  House  window  a 
temptingly  suggestive  branch   of   a  tree 


AT  THE   GOLDEN   GATE.  263 

fretted  the  sky.  No  one  appeared  for 
the  prisoner,  and,  partly  in  jest,  the  court 
advised  young  Samuelson  to  take  up  the 
case. 

"  The  prisoner  is  undefended,  Sam," 
said  the  court.  "  The  square  thing  to  do 
would  be  for  you  to  take  him  aside  and 
do  the  best  you  can  for  him." 

Court,  jury,  and  witness  then  adjourned 
to  the  veranda,  while  Samuelson  led  his 
client  aside  to  the  Court  House  cells. 
An  hour  passed  ere  the  lawyer  returned 
alone.      Mutely  the  audience  questioned. 

"May  it  p-p-please  the  c-court,"  said 
Samuelson,  "my  client's  case  is  a  b-b-b- 
bad  one —  a  d-d-amn  bad  one.  You  told 
me  to  do  the  b-b-best  I  c-couid  for  him, 
judge,  so  I've  jest  given  him  y-your  b-b- 
bay  gelding,  an1  told  him  to  light  out 
for  healthier  c-climes,  my  p-p-professional 
opinion  being  he'd  be  hanged  quicker'n 


264  AMERICAN   NOTES. 

h-h-hades  if  he  dallied  here.  B-by  this 
time  my  client's  'bout  fifteen  mile  out 
yonder  somewheres.  That  was  the  b-b- 
best  I  could  do  for  him,  may  it  p-p-please 
the  court." 

The  young  man,  escaping  punishment 
in  lieu  of  the  prisoner,  made  his  fortune 
ere  five  years. 


TALES  OF  OLD  DAYS. 

Other  voices  followed,  with  equally 
wondrous  tales  of  riata-throwing  in  Mex- 
ico and  Arizona,  of  gambling  at  army 
posts  in  Texas,  of  newspaper  wars  waged 
in  Godless  Chicago  (I  could  not  help  be- 
ing interested,  but  they  were  not  pretty 
tricks),  of  deaths  sudden  and  violent  in 
Montana  and  Dakota,  of  the  loves  of 
half-breed  maidens  in  the  South,  and  fan- 
tastic huntings  for  gold  in  mysterious 
Alaska.     Above  all,  they  told  the  story 


AT   THE   GOLDEN   GATE.  265 

of  the  building  of  old  San  Francisco, 
when  the  "  finest  collection  of  humanity 
on  God's  earth,  sir,  started  this  town,  and 
the  water  came  up  to  the  foot  of  Market ' 
Street."  Very  terrible  were  some  of  the 
tales,  grimly  humorous  the  others,  and 
the  men  in  broadcloth  and  fine  linen  who 
told  them  had  played  their  parts  in  them. 

"  And  now  and  again  when  things  got 
too  bad  they  would  toll  the  city  bell,  and 
the  Vigilance  Committee  turned  out  and 
hanged  the  suspicious  characters.  A  man 
didn't  begin  to  be  suspected  in  those  days 
till  he  had  committed  at  least  one  unpro- 
voked murder,"  said  a  calm-eyed,  portly 
old  eentleman. 

I  looked  at  the  pictures  around  me,  the 
noiseless,  neat-uniformed  waiter  behind 
me,  the  oak-ribbed  ceiling  above,  the 
velvet  carpet  beneath.  It  was  hard  to 
realize  that  even  twenty    years  ago  you 


266  AMERICAN   NOTES. 

could  see  a  man  hanged  with  great  pomp. 
Later  on  I  found  reason  to  change  my 
opinion.  The  tales  gave  me  a  headache 
and  set  me  thinking.  How  in  the  world 
was  it  possible  to  take  in  even  one  thou- 
sandth of  this  huge,  roaring,  many-sided 
continent  ?  In  the  tobacco-scented  silence 
of  the  sumptuous  library  lay  Professor 
Bryce's  book  on  the  American  Republic. 
"  It  is  an  omen,"  said  I.  "  He  has  done 
all  things  in  all  seriousness,  and  he  may 
be  purchased  for  half  a  guinea.  Those 
who  desire  information  of  the  most  un- 
doubted, must  refer  to  his  pages.  For  me 
is  the  daily  round  of  vagabondage,  the  re- 
cordincr  of  the  incidents  of  the  hour  and 
intercourse  with  the  traveling-companion 
of  the  day.     I  will  not  '  do  '  this  country 

at  all."  

INDIA  FORGOTTEN. 

And    I  forgot  all  about  India  for  ten 


AT   THE   GOLDEN   GATE.  267 

days  while  I  went  out  to  dinners  and 
watched  the  social  customs  of  the  people, 
which  are  entirely  different  from  our  cus- 
toms, and  was  introduced  to  men  of  many 
millions.  These  persons  are  harmless  in 
their  earlier  stages  —  that  is  to  say,  a  man 
worth  three  or  four  million  dollars  may  be 
a  good  talker,  clever,  amusing,  and  of  the 
world  ;  a  man  with  twice  that  amount  is 
to  be  avoided,  and  a  twenty-million  man 
is  —  just  twenty  millions.  Take  an  in- 
stance. I  was  speaking  to  a  newspaper 
man  about  seeing  the  proprietor  of  his 
journal,  as  in  my  innocence  I  supposed 
newspaper  men  occasionally  did.  My 
friend  snorted  indignantly  : 

"  See  him  !  Great  Scott !  No.  If  he 
happens  to  appear  in  the  office,  I  have  to 
associate  with  him  ;  but,  thank  Heaven  ! 
outside  of  that  I  move  in  circles  where  he 
can  not  come." 


268  AMERICAN   NOTES. 

And  yet  the  first  thing  I  have  been 
taught  to  believe  is  that  money  was  every- 
thing in  America  ! 


AMERICAN   POLITICS. 


I  have  been  watching  machinery  in  re- 
pose after  reading  about  machinery  in 
action. 

An  excellent  gentleman,  who  bears  a 
name  honored  in  the  magazine,  writes, 
much  as  Disraeli  orated,  of  "  the  sublime 
instincts  of  an  ancient  people,"  the  cer- 
tainty with  which  they  can  be  trusted  to 
manage  their  own  affairs  in  their  own 
way,  and  the  speed  with  which  they  are 
making  for  all  sorts  of  desirable  goals. 
This  he  called  a  statement  or  purview  of 
American  politics. 

I  went  almost  directly  afterward  to  a 
saloon  where  gentlemen  interested  in  ward 
politics  nightly  congregate.  They  were 
not  pretty  persons.  Some  of  them  were 
bloated,  and  they  all  swore  cheerfully  till 

(269) 


270  AMERICAN   NOTES. 

the  heavy  gold  watch-chains  on  their  fat 
stomachs  rose  and  fell  again  ;  but  they 
talked  over  their  liquor  as  men  who  had 
power  and  unquestioned  access  to  places 
of  trust  and  profit. 

The  magazine  writer  discussed  theories 
of  government ;  these  men  the  practice. 
They  had  been  there.  They  knew  all 
about  it.  They  banged  their  fists  on  the 
table  and  spoke  of  political  "pulls,"  the 
vending  of  votes,  and  so  forth.  Theirs 
was  not  the  talk  of  village  babblers  recon- 
structing the  affairs  of  the  nation,  but  of 
strong,  coarse,  lustful  men  fighting  for 
spoil,  and  thoroughly  understanding  the 
best  methods  of  reaching  it. 

I  listened  long  and  intently  to  speech  I 
could  not  understand  —  or  but  in  spots. 

It  was  the  speech  of  business,  however. 
I  had  sense  enough  to  know  that,  and  to 
do  my  laughing  outside  the  door. 


AMERICAN   POLITICS.  271 

Then  I  began  to  understand  why  my 
pleasant  and  well-educated  hosts  in  San 
Francisco  spoke  with  a  bitter  scorn  of 
such  duties  of  citizenship  as  voting  and 
taking  an  interest  in  the  distribution 
of  offices.  Scores  of  men  have  told  me, 
without  false  pride,  that  they  would  as 
soon  concern  themselves  with  the  public 
affairs  of  the  city  or  State  as  rake  muck 
with  a  steam-shovel.  It  may  be  that 
their  lofty  disdain  covers  selfishness,  but 
I  should  be  very  sorry  habitually  to  meet 
the  fat  gentlemen  with  shiny  top-hats 
and  plump  cigars  in  whose  society  I  have 
been  spending  the  evening. 

Read  about  politics  as  the  cultured 
writer  of  the  magazine  regards  'em,  and 
then,  and  not  till  then,  pay  your  respects 
to  the  gentlemen  who  run  the  grimy 
reality. 

I'm  sick  of  interviewing  night  editors 


072  AMERICAN   NOTES. 

who  lean  their  chair  against  the  wall,  and, 
in  response  to  my  demand  for  the  record 
of  a  prominent  citizen,  answer :  "Well, 
you  see,  he  began  by  keeping  a  saloon," 
etc.  I  prefer  to  believe  that  my  inform- 
ants are  treating  me  as  in  the  old  sinful 
days  in  India  I  was  used  to  treat  the 
wandering  globe-trotter.  They  declare 
that  they  speak  the  truth,  and  the  news  of 
dog  politics  lately  vouchsafed  to  me  in 
groggeries  inclines  me  to  believe,  but 
I  won't.  The  people  are  much  too  nice 
to  slangander  as  recklessly  as  I  have  been 
doing.  Besides,  I  am  hopelessly  in  love 
with  about  eight  American  maidens  —  all 
perfectly  delightful  till  the  next  one  comes 
into  the  room. 

O-Toyo  was  a  darling,  but  she  lacked 
several  things  —  conversation  for  one. 
You  can  not  live  on  giggles.  She  shall 
remain   unmarried   at    Nagasaki,  while  I 


AMERICAN   POLITICS.  273 

roast  a  battered  heart  before  the  shrine  of 
a  big  Kentucky  blonde,  who  had  for 
a  nurse,  when  she  was  little,  a  negro 
"mammy." 

By  consequence  she  has  welded  on 
California  beauty,  Paris  dresses,  Eastern 
culture,  Europe  trips,  and  wild  Western 
originality,  the  queer,  dreamy  supersti- 
tions of  the  quarters,  and  the  result  is 
soul-shattering.  And  she  is  but  one  of 
many  stars. 

Item,  a  maiden  who  believes  in  educa- 
tion and  possesses  it,  with  a  few  hundred 
thousand  dollars  to  boot  and  a  taste  for 
slumming. 

Item,  the  leader  of  a  sort  of  informal 
salon  where  girls  congregate,  read  papers, 
and  daringly  discuss  metaphysical  prob- 
lems and  candy — a  sloe-eyed, black-browed, 
imperious  maiden  she. 

Item,  a  very  small  maiden,  absolutely 

18 


274  AMERICAN   NOTES. 

without  reverence,  who  can  in  one  swift 
sentence  trample  upon  and  leave  gasping 
half  a  dozen  young  men. 

Item,  a  millionairess,  burdened  with  her 
money,  lonely,  caustic,  with  a  tongue 
keen  as  a  sword,  yearning  for  a  sphere, 
but  chained  up  to  the  rock  of  her  vast 
possessions. 

Item,  a  typewriter  maiden  earning  her 
own  bread  in  this  big  city,  because  she 
doesn't  think  a  girl  ought  to  be  a  burden 
on  her  parents,  who  quotes  Theophile 
Gautier  and  moves  through  the  world 
manfully,  much  respected  for  all  her 
twenty  inexperienced  summers. 

Item,  a  woman  from  cloud-land  who 
has  no  history  in  the  past  or  future,  but  is 
discreetly  of  the  present,  and  strives  for 
the  confidences  of  male  humanity  on  the 
grounds  of  "sympathy"  (methinks  this  is 
not  altogether  a  new  type). 


AMERICAN   POLITICS.  275 

Item,  a  girl  in  a  "dive,"  blessed  with  a 
Greek  head  and  eyes,  that  seem  to  speak 
all  that  is  best  and  sweetest  in  the  world. 
But  woe  is  me  !  She  has  no  ideas  in  this 
world  or  the  next  beyond  the  consump 
tion  of  beer  (a  commission  on  each  bottle), 
and  protests  that  she  sings  the  songs 
allotted  to  her  nightly  without  more  than 
the  vaguest  notion  of  their  meaning. 


AMERICAN  GIRLS  SUPREME. 

Sweet  and  comely  are  the  maidens  of 
Devonshire ;  delicate  and  of  gracious 
seeming  those  who  live  in  the  pleasant 
places  of  London  ;  fascinating  for  all  their 
demureness  the  damsels  of  France,  cling- 
ing closely  to  their  mothers,  with  large 
eyes  wondering  at  the  wicked  world ; 
excellent  in  her  own  place  and  to  those 
who  understand  her  is  the  Anglo-Indian 
"spin"  in  her  second  season  ;  but  the  girls 


276  AMERICAN    NOTES. 

of  America  are  above  and  beyond  them 
all.  They  are  clever,  they  can  talk — yea, 
it  is  said  that  they  think.  Certainly  they 
have  an  appearance  of  so  doing,  which  is 
delightfully  deceptive. 

They  are  original,  and  regard  you  be- 
tween the  brows  with  unabashed  eyes  as 
a  sister  might  look  at  her  brother.  They 
are  instructed,  too,  in  the  folly  and  vanity 
of  the  male  mind,  for  they  have  associ- 
ated with  "the  boys"  from  babyhood, 
and  can  discerningly  minister  to  both 
vices  or  pleasantly  snub  the  possessor. 
They  possess,  moreover,  a  life  among 
themselves,  independent  of  any  masculine 
associations.  They  have  societies  and 
clubs  and  unlimited  tea-fights  where  all 
the  guests  are  girls.  They  are  self- 
possessed,  without  parting  with  any  ten- 
derness that  is  their  sex-right;  they  under- 
stand ;  they  can  take  care  of  themselves ; 


AMERICAN   POLITICS.  277 

they  are  superbly  independent.  When 
you  ask  them  what  makes  them  so  charm- 
ing, they  say : 

"  It  is  because  we  are  better  educated 
than  your  girls,  and  —  and  we  are  more 
sensible  in  regard  to  men.  We  have 
eood  times  all  round,  but  we  aren't 
taught  to  regard  every  man  as  a  possible 
husband.  Nor  is  he  expected  to  marry 
the  first  girl  he  calls  on  regularly." 

Yes,  they  have  good  times,  their  free- 
dom is  large,  and  they  do  not  abuse  it. 
They  can  go  driving  with  young  men 
and  receive  visits  from  young  men  to  an 
extent  that  would  make  an  English 
mother  wink  with  horror,  and  neither 
driver  nor  drivee  has  a  thought  beyond 
the  enjoyment  of  a  good  time.  As  cer- 
tain, also,  as  their  own  poets  have  said : 

"  Man  is  fire  and  woman  is  tow, 
And  the  devil  he  comes  and  begins  to  blow." 


278  AMERICAN   NOTES. 

In  America  the  tow  is  soaked  in  a 
solution  that  makes  it  fireproof,  in  ab- 
solute liberty  and  large  knowledge ;  con- 
sequently, accidents  do  not  exceed  the 
regular  percentage  arranged  by  the  devil 
for  each  class  and  climate  under  the  skies. 


MADE  TOO   MUCH   OF. 

But  the  freedom  of  the  young  girl  has 
its  drawbacks.  She  is  —  I  say  it  with  all 
reluctance  —  irreverent,  from  her  forty- 
dollar  bonnet  to  the  buckles  in  her 
eighteen-dollar  shoes.  She  talks  flip- 
pantly to  her  parents  and  men  old 
enough  to  be  her  grandfather.  She  has 
a  prescriptive  right  to  the  society  of  the 
man  who  arrives.     The  parents  admit  it. 

This  is  sometimes  embarrassing,  espe- 
cially when  you  call  on  a  man  and  his  wife 
for  the  sake  of  information  —  the  one 
being  a   merchant  of  varied   knowledge, 


AMERICAN   POLITICS.  279 

the  other  a  woman  of  the  world.  In  five 
minutes  your  host  has  vanished.  In 
another  five  his  wife  has  followed  him, 
and  you  are  left  alone  with  a  very  charm- 
ing maiden,  doubtless,  but  certainly  not 
the  person  you  came  to  see.  She  chat- 
ters, and  you  grin,  but  you  leave  with  the 
very  strong  impression  of  a  wasted  morn- 
ing. This  has  been  my  experience  once 
or  twice.  I  have  even  said  as  pointedly 
as  I  dared  to  a  man : 

"  I  came  to  see  you." 

"You'd  better  see  me  in  my  office,  then. 
The  house  belongs  to  my. women  folk —  to 
my  daughter,  that  is  to  say." 

He  spoke  the  truth.  The  American  of 
wealth  is  owned  by  his  family.  They  ex- 
ploit him  for  bullion.  The  women  get  the 
ha'pence,  the  kicks  are  all  his  own.  Noth- 
ing is  too  good  for  an  American's  daughter 
(I  speak  here  of  the  moneyed  classes). 


280  AMERICAN   NOTES. 

The  girls  take  every  gift  as  a  matter  of 
course,  and  yet  they  develop  greatly  when 
a  catastrophe  arrives  and  the  man  of 
many  millions  goes  np  or  goes  down,  and 
his  daughters  take  to  stenography  or 
typewriting.  I  have  heard  many  tales  of 
heroism  from  the  lips  of  girls  who  counted 
the  principals  among  their  friends.  The 
crash  came,  Mamie,  or  Hattie,  or  Sadie, 
gave  up  their  maid,  their  carriages,  and 
candy,  and  with  a  No.  2  Remington  and 
a  stout  heart  set  about  earning  their  daily 
bread. 

"  And  did  I  drop  her  from  the  list  of 
my  friends  ?  No,  sir,"  said  a  scarlet- 
lipped  vision  in  white  lace  ;  "  that  might 
happen  to  us  any  day." 


SAN  FRANCISCO  VELOCITY. 

It  may  be   this   sense   of  possible   dis- 
aster in  the  air  that  makes  San  Francisco 


AMERICAN    POLITICS.  28  I 

society  go  with  so  captivating  a  rush  and 
whirl.  Recklessness  is  in  the  air.  I 
can't  explain  where  it  comes  from,  but 
there  it  is.  The  roaring  winds  of  the  Pa- 
cific make  you  drunk  to  begin  with.  The 
aggressive  luxury  on  all  sides  helps  out 
the  intoxication,  and  you  spin  forever 
"  down  the  ringing  grooves  of  change" 
(there  is  no  small  change,  by  the  way, 
west  of  the  Rockies)  as  long  as  money 
lasts.  They  make  greatly  and  they  spend 
lavishly  ;  not  only  the  rich,  but  the  arti- 
sans, who  pay  nearly  five  pounds  for  a 
suit  of  clothes,  and  for  other  luxuries  in 
proportion. 

The  young  men  rejoice  in  the  days  of 
their  youth.  They  gamble,  yacht,  race, 
enjoy  prize-fights  and  cock-fights,  the  one 
openly,  the  other  in  secret ;  they  establish 
luxurious  clubs  ;  they  break  themselves 
over    horse-flesh    and   other   things,    and 


•3 


282  AMERICAN   NOTES. 

they  are  instant  in  a  quarrel.  At  twenty 
they  are  experienced  in  business,  embark 
in  vast  enterprises,  take  partners  as  ex- 
perienced as  themselves,  and  go  to  pieces 
with  as  much  splendor  as  their  neighbors. 
Remember  that  the  men  who  stocked 
California  in  the  fifties  were  physically, 
and,  as  far  as  regards  certain  tough  vir- 
tues,  the  pick  of  the  earth.  The  inept 
and  the  weakly  died  en  route,  or  went 
under  in  the  days  of  construction.  To 
this  nucleus  were  added  all  the  races  of 
the  Continent —  French,  Italian,  German, 
and,  of  course,  the  Jew. 

The  result  you  can  see  in  the  large- 
boned,  deep  -  chested,  delicate  -  handed 
women,  and  long,  elastic,  well-built  boys. 
It  needs  no  little  golden  badge  swinging 
from  the  watch-chain  to  mark  the  native 
son  of  the  Golden  West,  the  country-bred 
of  California. 


AMERICAN    POLITICS.  283 

Him  I  love  because  he  is  devoid  of 
fear,  carries  himself  like  a  man,  and  has  a 
heart  as  big  as  his  books.  I  fancy,  too, 
he  knows  how  to  enjoy  the  blessings  of 
life  that  his  province  so  abundantly  be-  ■ 
stows  upon  him.  At  least,  I  heard  a  little 
rat  of  a  creature  with  hock-bottle  shoul- 
ders explaining  that  a  man  from  Chicago 
could  pull  the  eye-teeth  of  a  Californian 
in  business. 

ABOUT  THAT  CLIMATE. 

Well,  if  I  lived  in  fairy-land,  where 
cherries  were  as  big  as  plums,  plums  as 
big  as  apples,  and  strawberries  of  no  ac- 
count, where  the  procession  of  the  fruits 
of  the  seasons  was  like  a  pageant  in  a 
Drury  Lane  pantomime,  and  the  dry  air 
was  wine,  I  should  let  business  slide  onc^ 
in  a  way  and  kick  up  my  heels  with  my 
fellows.     The    tale    of    the    resources   of 


084  '  AMERICAN    NOTES. 

California  — vegetable  and  mineral  —  is  a 
fairy-tale.  You  can  read  it  in  books.  You 
would  never  believe  me. 

All  manner  of  nourishing  food,  from- 
sea-fish  to  beef,  may  be  bought  at  the  low- 
est prices,  and  the  people  are  consequently 
well  developed  and  of  a  high  stomach. 
They  demand  ten  shillings  for  tinkering  a 
jammed  lock  of  a  trunk  ;  they  receive  six- 
teen shillings  a  day  for  working  as  car- 
penters ;  they  spend  many  sixpences  on 
very  bad  cigars,  which  the  poorest  of  them 
smoke,  and  they  go  mad  over  a  prize- 
fight. When  they  disagree  they  do  so 
fatally,  with  fire-arms  in  their  hands,  and 
on  the  public  streets.  I  was  just  clear  of 
Mission  Street  when  the  trouble  began 
between  two  gentlemen,  one  of  whom  per- 
forated the  other. 

When  a  policeman,  whose  name  I  do 
not  recollect,  "  fatally  shot  Ed  Hearney" 


AMERICAN   POLITICS.  285 

for  attempting  to  escape  arrest,  I  was  in 
the  next  street.  For  these  things  I  am 
thankful.  It  is  enough  to  travel  with  a 
policeman  in  a  tram-car,  and,  while  he  ar- 
ranges his  coat-tails  as  he  sits  down,  to 
catch  sight  of  a  loaded  revolver.  It  is 
enough  to  know  that  50  per  cent  of  the 
men  in  the  public  saloons  carry  pistols 
about  them. 

The  Chinaman  waylays  his  adversary, 
and  methodically  chops  him  to  pieces  with 
his  hatchet.  Then  the  press  roars  about 
the  brutal  ferocity  of  the  pagan. 

The  Italian  reconstructs  his  friend  with 
a  long  knife.  The  press  complains  of  the 
waywardness  of  the  alien. 

The  Irishman  and  the  native  Califor- 
nian  in  their  hours  of  discontent  use  the 
revolver,  not  once,  but  six  times.  The 
press  records  the  fact,  and  asks  in  the 
next  column  whether  the  world  can  paral- 


286  AMERICAN   NOTES. 

lei  the  progress  of  San  Francisco.  The 
American  who  loves  his  country  will  tell 
you  that  this  sort  of  thing  is  confined  to 
the  lower  classes.  Just  at  present  an  ex- 
judge,  who  was  sent  to  jail  by  another 
judge  (upon  my  word  I  can  not  tell 
whether  these  titles  mean  anything),  is 
breathing  red-hot  vengeance  against  his 
enemy.  The  papers  have  interviewed 
both  parties,  and  confidently  expect  a 
fatal  issue. 


AFRICAN-AMERICAN  TYPES. 

Now,  let  me  draw  breath  and  curse  the 
negro  waiter,  and  through  him  the  negro 
in  service  generally.  He  has  been  made 
a  citizen  with  a  vote,  consequently  both 
political  parties  play  with  him.  But  that 
is  neither  here  nor  there.  He  will  com- 
mit in  one  meal  every  betise  that  a  senllion 
fresh  from  the  plow-tail  is  capable  of,  and 


AMERICAN   POLITICS.  287 

he  will  continue  to  repeat  those  faults. 
He  is  as  complete  a  heavy-footed,  uncom- 
prehending, bungle-fisted  fool  as  any 
mem-sahib  in  the  East  ever  took  into  her 
establishment.  But  he  is  according  to 
law  a  free  and  independent  citizen  —  con- 
sequently above  reproof  or  criticism.  He, 
and  he  alone,  in  this  insane  city,  will  wait 
at  table  (the  Chinaman  doesn't  count). 

He  is  untrained,  inept,  but  he  will  fill 
the  place  and  draw  the  pay.  Now,  God 
and  his  father's  fate  made  him  intellect- 
ually inferior  to  the  Oriental.  He  insists 
on  pretending  that  he  serves  tables  by 
accident  —  as  a  sort  of  amusement.  He 
wishes  you  to  understand  this  little  fact. 
You  wish  to  eat  your  meals,  and,  if  possi- 
ble, to  have  them  properly  served.  He  is 
a  big,  black,  vain  baby  and  a  man  rolled 
into  one. 

A  colored  gentleman  who   insisted  on 


288  AMERICAN   NOTES. 

getting  me  pie  when  I  wanted  something 
else,  demanded  information  about  India. 
I  gave  him  some  facts  about  wages. 

"Oh,  hell!"  said  he,  cheerfully,  "that 
wouldn't  keep  me  in  cigars  for  a  month." 

Then  he  fawned  on  me  for  a  ten-cent 
piece.  Later  he  took  it  upon  himself  to 
pity  the  natives  of  India.  "Heathens," 
he  called  them  —  this  woolly  one,  whose 
race  has  been  the  butt  of  every  comedy 
on  the  native  stage  since  the  beginning. 
And  I  turned  and  saw  by  the  head  upon 
his  shoulders  that  he  was  a  Yoruba.  man, 
if  there  be  any  truth  in  ethnological  castes. 
He  did  his  thinking  in  English,  but  he 
was  a  Yoruba  negro,  and  the  race  type 
had  remained  the  same  throughout  his 
generations.  And  the  room  was  full  of 
other  races — some  that  looked  exactly 
like  Gallas  (but  the  trade  was  never 
recruited  from  that  side  of  Africa),  some 


AMERICAN   POLITICS.  289 

duplicates  of  Cameroon  heads,  and  some 
Kroomen,  if  ever  Kroomen  wore  evening 
dress. 

The  American  does  not  consider  little 
matters  of  descent,  though  by  this  time 
he  ougdit  to  know  all  about  "  damnable 
heredity."  As  a  general  rule  he  keeps 
himself  very  far  from  the  negro,  and  says 
things  about  him  that  are  not  pretty. 
There  are  six  million  negroes,  more  or 
less,  in  the  States,  and  they  are  increas- 
ing. The  American,  once  having  made 
them  citizens,  can  not  unmake  them.  He 
says,  in  his  newspapers,  they  ought  to  be 
elevated  by  education.  He  is  trying  this, 
but  it  is  likely  to  be  a  long  job,  because 
black  blood  is  much  more  adhesive  than 
white,  and  throws  back  with  annoying 
persistence. 

When  the  negro  gets  religion  he  re- 
turns directly  as  a  hiving  bee  to  the  first 

19 


290 


AMERICAN   NOTES. 


instincts  of  his  people,  just  now  a  wave 
of  religion  is  sweeping  over  some  of  the 
Southern  States. 

Up  to  the  present  two  Messiahs  and  a 
Daniel  have  appeared,  and  several  human 
sacrifices  have  been  offered  up  to  these 
incarnations.  The  Daniel  managed  to 
get  three  young  men,  who  he  insisted 
were  Shadrach,  Meshach,  and  Abednego, 
to  walk  into  a  blast  furnace,  guaranteeing 
non-combustion.  They  did  not  return. 
I  have  seen  nothing  of  this  kind,  but  I 
have  attended  a  negro  church.  They 
pray,  or  are  caused  to  pray  by  themselves 
in  this  country.  The  congregation  were 
moved  by  the  spirit  to  groans  and  tears, 
and  one  of  them  danced  up  the  aisle  to 
the  mourners'  bench.  The  motive  may 
have  been  genuine.  The  movements  of 
the  shaken  body  were  those  of  a  Zanzibar 
stick  dance,  such  as  you  see  at  Aden  on 


AMERICAN   POLITICS.  29  I 

the  coal-boats,  and  even  as  I  watched  the 
people,  the  links  that  bound  them  to  the 
white  man  snapped  one  by  one,  and  I 
saw  before  me  the  hubs  hi  (woolly  hair) 
praying  to  a  God  he  did  not  understand. 
Those  neatly  dressed  folk  on  the  benches, 
and  the  gray-headed  elder  by  the  window, 
were  savages,  neither  more  nor  less. 


AN  IRREPRESSIBLE  PROBLEM. 

What  will  the  American  do  with  the 
negro  ?  The  South  will  not  consort  with 
him.  In  some  States  miscegenation  is  a 
penal  offense.  The  North  is  every  year 
less  and  less  in  need  of  his  services. 

And  he  will  not  disappear.  He  will 
continue  as  a  problem.  His  friends  will 
urge  that  he  is  as  good  as  the  white  man. 
His  enemies — well,  you  can  guess  what 
his  enemies  will  do  from  a  little  incident 


2Q2  AMERICAN   NOTES. 

that  followed  on  a  recent  appointment 
by  the  president.  He  made  a  negro  an 
assistant  in  a  post  office  where  —  think  of 
it!  —  he  had  to  work  at  the  next  desk 
to  a  white  girl,  the  daughter  of  a  colonel, 
one  of  the  first  families  of  Georgia's  mod- 
ern chivalry,  and  all  the  weary,  weary 
rest  of  it.  The  Southern  chivalry  howled, 
and  hanged  or  burned  some  one  in  effigy. 
Perhaps  it  was  the  president,  and  perhaps 
it  was  the  negro  —  but  the  principle  re- 
mains the  same.  They  said  it  was  an 
insult.  It  is  not  good  to  be  a  negro  in 
the  land  of  the  free  and  the  home  of  the 
brave. 

But  this  is  nothing  to  do  with  San 
Francisco  and  her  merry  maidens,  her 
strong,  swaggering  men,  and  her  wealth 
of  gold  and  pride.  They  bore  me  to  a 
banquet  in  honor  of  a  brave  lieutenant  — 
Carlin,  of  the  "Vandalia" — who  stuck  by 


AMERICAN   POLITICS.  293 

his  ship  in  the  great  cyclone  at  Apia  and 
comported  himself  as  an  officer  should. 
On  that  occasion — 'twas  at  the  Bohemian 
Club —  I  heard  oratory  with  the  roundest 
of  o's,  and  devoured  a  dinner  the  memory 
of  which  will  descend  with  me  into  the 
hungry  grave. 

SCREAMS  FROM  THE  EAGLE. 

There  were  about  forty  speeches  deliv- 
ered, and  not  one  of  them  was  average  or 
ordinary.  It  was  my  first  introduction  to 
the  American  eagle  screaming  .  for  all 
it  was  worth.  The  lieutenant's  heroism 
served  as  a  peg  from  which  the  silver- 
tongued  ones  turned  themselves  loose  and 
kicked. 

They  ransacked  the  clouds  of  sunset, 
the  thunderbolts  of  heaven,  the  deeps  of 
hell,  and  the  splendor  of  the  resurrection 
for  tropes  and  metaphors,  and  hurled  the 


294 


AMERICAN   NOTES. 


result  at  the  head   of   the  guest   of  the 
evening. 

Never  since  the  morning-  stars  sunor 
together  for  joy,  I  learned,  had  an  amazed 
creation  witnessed  such  superhuman 
bravery  as  that  displayed  by  the  Ameri- 
can navy  in  the  Samoa  cyclone.  Till 
earth  rotted  in  the  phosphorescent  star- 
and-stripe  slime  of  a  decayed  universe, 
that  godlike  gallantry  would  not  be  for- 
gotten. I  grieve  that  I  can  not  give  the 
exact  words.  My  attempt  at  reproduc- 
ing their  spirit  is  pale  and  inadequate.  I 
sat  bewildered  on  a  coruscating  Niagara 
of  blatherumskite.  It  was  magnificent — 
it  was  stupendous  —  and  I  was  conscious 
of  a  wicked  desire  to  hide  my  face  in  a 
napkin  and  grin.  Then,  according  to 
rule,  they  produced  their  dead,  and  across 
the  snowy  tablecloths  dragged  the  corpse 
of  every  man  slain  in  the  Civil  War,  and 


AMERICAN   POLITICS. 


295 


hurled  defiance  at  "our  natural  enemy" 
(England,  so  please  you),  "with  her 
chain  of  fortresses  across  the  world." 
Thereafter  they  glorified  their  nation 
afresh  from  the  beginning,  in  case  any 
detail  should  have  been  overlooked,  and 
that  made  me  uncomfortable  for  their 
sakes.  How  in  the  world  can  a  white 
man,  a  sahib,  of  our  blood,  stand  up  and 
plaster  praise  on  his  own  country?  He  can 
think  as  highly  as  he  likes,  but  this  open- 
mouthed  vehemence  of  adoration  struck 
me  almost  as  indelicate.  My  hosts  talked 
for  rather  more  than  three  hours,  and  at  the 
end  seemed  ready  for  three  hours  more. 

But  when  the  lieutenant  —  such  a  big, 
brave,  gentle  giant  —  rose  to  his  feet,  he 
delivered  what  seemed  to  me  as  the 
speech  of  the  evening.  I  remember 
nearly  the  whole  of  it,  and  it  ran  some- 
thing in  this  way : 


296 


AMERICAN   NOTES. 


"  Gentlemen  —  It's  very  good  of  you  to 
give  me  this  dinner  and  to  tell  me  all 
these  pretty  things,  but  what  I  want  you 
to  understand — the  fact  is,  what  we  want 
and  what  we  ought  to  get  at  once,  is  a 
navy  —  more  ships  —  lots  of  'em — " 

Then  we  howled  the  top  of  the  roof  off, 
and  I  for  one  fell  in  love  with  Carlin  on 
the  spot.     Wallah  !     He  was  a  man. 

The  prince  among  merchants  bid  me 
take  no  heed  to  the  warlike  sentiments 
of  some  of  the  old  generals. 

"The  skyrockets  are  thrown  in  for 
effect,''  quoth  he,  "and  whenever  w.e  get 
on  our  hind  legs  we  always  express  a 
desire  to  chaw  up  England.  It's  a  sort 
of  family  affair." 

And,  indeed,  when  you  come  to  think 
of  it,  there  is  no  other  country  for  the 
American  public  speaker  to  trample  upon. 

France  has  Germany;  we  have  Russia; 


AMERICAN   POLITICS. 


297 


for  Italy  Austria  is  provided,  and  the  hum- 
blest Pathan  possesses  an  ancestral  enemy. 

Only  America  stands  out  of  the  racket, 
and  therefore  to  be  in  fashion  makes  a 
sand  bag  of  the  mother  country,  and 
hangs  her  when  occasion  requires. 

"The  chain  of  fortresses"  man,  a  fasci- 
nating talker,  explained  to  me  after  the 
affair  that  he  was  compelled  to  blow  off 
steam.     Everybody  expected  it. 

When  we  had  chanted  "The  Star 
Spangled  Banner"  not  more  than  eight 
times,  we  adjourned.  America  is  a  very 
great  country,  but  it  is  not  yet  heaven, 
with  electric  lights  and  plush  fittings,  as 
the  speakers  professed  to  believe.  My 
listening  mind  went  back  to  the  politi- 
cians in  the  saloon,  who  wasted  no  time  in 
talking  about  freedom,  but  quietly  made 
arrangements  to  impose  their  will  on  the  . 
citizens. 


298 


AMERICAN   NOTES. 


"The  judge  is  a  great  man,  but  give 
thy  presents  to  the  clerk,"  as  the  proverb 
saith. 


TRAITS  OF  THE  TYPEWRITER. 

And  what  more  remains  to  tell  ?  I  can 
not  write  connectedly,  because  I  am  in 
love  with  all  those  girls  aforesaid,  and 
some  others  who  do  not  appear  in  the 
invoice.  The  typewriter  is  an  institution 
of  which  the  comic  papers  make  much 
capital,  but  she  is  vastly  convenient.  She 
and  a  companion  rent  a  room  in  a  busi- 
ness quarter,  and,  aided  by  a  typewriting 
machine,  copy  MSS.  at  the  rate  of  six 
annas  a  page.  Only  a  woman  can  oper- 
ate a  typewriting  machine,  because  she 
has  served  apprenticeship  to  the  sewing 
machine.  She  can  earn  as  much  as  one 
hundred  dollars  a  month,  and  professes 
to  regard  this  form  of  bread-winning  as 


AMERICAN    POLITICS. 


299 


her  natural  destiny.  But,  oh  !  how  she 
hates  it  in  her  heart  of  hearts  !  When  I 
had  got  over  the  surprise  of  doing  busi- 
ness with  and  trying  to  give  orders  to  a 
young  woman  of  coldly,  clerkly  aspect  in- 
trenched behind  gold-rimmed  spectacles, 
I  made  inquiries  concerning  the  pleasures 
of  this  independence.  They  liked  it  — 
indeed  they  did.  'Twas  the  natural  fate 
of  almost  all  girls — the  recognized  cus- 
tom in  America  —and  I  was  a  barbarian 
not  to  see  it  in  that  light. 

"Well,  and  after?"  said  I.  "What 
happens?" 

"We  work  for  our  bread." 

"And  then  what  do  you  expect?" 

"Then  we  shall  work  for  our  bread." 

"Till  you  die?" 

' '  Ye-es  —  unless  — " 

"Unless  what?  This  is  your  business, 
you  know.     A  man  works  until  he  dies." 


3<X>  AMERICAN    NOTES. 

"So  shall  we" — this  without  enthusiasm 
— "  I  suppose."  Said  the  partner  in  the 
firm,  audaciously : 

"Sometimes  we  marry  our  employes  — 
at  least,  that's  what  the  newspapers  say." 

The  hand  banged  on  half  a  dozen 
of  the  keys  of  the  machine  at  once. 
"Yet  I  don't  care.  I  hate  it  —  I  hate  it 
—  I  hate  it — and  you  needn't  look  so!" 

The  senior  partner  was  regarding  the 
rebel  with  grave-eyed  reproach. 

"I  thought  you  did,"  said  I.  "I  don't 
suppose  American  girls  are  much  different 
from  English  ones  in  instinct." 

"Isn't  it  Theophile  Gautier  who  says 
that  the  only  difference  between  country 
and  country  lie  in  the  slang  and  the  uni- 
form of  the  police?1' 

Now,  in  the  name  of  all  the  gods 
at  once,  what  is  one  to  say  to  a  young 
lady  (who  in  England  would  be  a  person) 


AMERICAN    POLITICS.  30  I 

who  earns  her  own  bread,  and  very  natur- 
ally hates  the  employ,  and  slings  out-of- 
the-way  quotations  at  your  head?  That 
one  falls  in  love  with  her  goes  without 
saying,  but  that  is  not  enough. 
A  mission  should  be  established. 


AMERICAN  CATCHES. 


The  race  is  neither  to  the  swift  nor  the  battle 
to  the  strong  ;  but  time  and  chance  cometh  to  all. 

I  have  lived ! 

The  American  Continent  may  now  sink 
under  the  sea,  for  I  have  taken  the  best 
that  it  yields,  and  the  best  was  neither 
dollars,  love,  nor  real  estate. 

Hear  now,  gentlemen  of  the  Punjab 
Fishing  Club,  who  whip  the  reaches  of 
the  Tavi,  and  you  who  painfully  import 
trout  over  to  Octamund,  and  I  will  tell 
you  how  old  man  California  and  I  went 
fishing,  and  you  shall  envy. 

We  returned  from  The  Dalles  to  Port- 
land by  the  way  we  had  come,  the 
steamer  stopping  en  route  to  pick  up  a 
night's  catch  of  one  of  the  salmon  wheels 

(302) 


AMERICAN    CATCHES.  303 

on  the  river,  and  to  deliver  it  at  a  can- 
nery down-stream. 

When  the  proprietor  of  the  wheel 
announced  that  his  take  was  two  thou- 
sand two  hundred  and  thirty  pounds 
weieht  of  fish,  "and  not  a  heavy  catch 
neither,"  I  thought  he  lied.  But  he 
sent  the  boxes  aboard,  and  I  counted 
the  salmon  by  the  hundred  —  huge  fifty- 
pounders  hardly  dead,  scores  of  twenty 
and  thirty  pounders,  and  a  host  of  smaller 
fish.  They  were  all  Chenook  salmon, 
as  distinguished  from  the  "steel  head" 
and  the  "silver  side."  That  is  to  say, 
they  were  royal  salmon,  and  California 
and  I  dropped  a  tear  over  them,  as  mon- 
archs  who  deserved  a  better  fate ;  but  the 
lust  of  slaughter  entered  into  our  souls, 
and  we  talked  fish  and  forgot  the  moun- 
tain scenery  that  had  so  moved  us  a  day 
before. 


304  AMERICAN   NOTES. 

The  steamer  halted  at  a  rude  wooden 
warehouse  built  on  piles  in  a  lonely  reach 
of  the  river,  and  sent  in  the  fish.  I 
followed  them  up  a  scale-strewn,  fishy 
incline  that  led  to  the  cannery.  The 
crazy  building  was  quivering  with  the 
machinery  on  its  floors,  and  a  glittering 
bank  of  tin  scraps  twenty  feet  high 
showed  where  the  waste  was  thrown  after 
the  cans  had  been  punched. 


IN  A  CANNERY. 

Only  Chinamen  were  employed  on 
the  work,  and  they  looked  like  blood- 
besmeared  yellow  devils  as  they  crossed 
the  rifts  of  sunlight  that  lay  upon  the 
floor.  When  our  consignment  arrived, 
the  rough  wooden  boxes  broke  of  them- 
selves as  they  were  dumped  down  under 
a  jet  of  water,  and  the  salmon  burst  out 


AMERICAN   CATCHES.  305 

in  a  stream  of  quicksilver.  A  Chinaman 
jerked  up  a  twenty-pounder,  beheaded 
and  detailed  it  with  two  swift  strokes  of  a 
knife,  flicked  out  its  internal  arrange- 
ments with  a  third,  and  cast  it  into  a 
blood-dyed  tank.  The  headless  fish 
leaped  from  under  his  hands  as  though 
they  were  facing  a  rapid.  Other  China- 
men pulled  them  from  the  vat  and  thrust 
them  under  a  thing  like  a  chaff-cutter, 
which,  descending,  hewed  them  into  un- 
seemly red  gobbets  fit  for  the  can. 

More  Chinamen,  with  yellow,  crooked 
fingers,  jammed  the  stuff  into  the  cans, 
which  slid  down  some  marvelous  machine 
forthwith,  soldering  their  own  tops  as 
they  passed.  Each  can  was  hastily  tested 
for  flaws,  and  then  sunk  with  a  hundred 
companions  into  a  vat  of  boiling  water, 
there  to  be  half  cooked  for  a  few  minutes. 

The  cans  bulged  slightly  after  the  oper- 
20 


306  AMERICAN   NOTES. 

ation,  and  were  therefore  slidden  along 
by  the  trolleyful  to  men  with  needles  and 
solderine-irons  who  vented  them  and 
soldered  the  aperture.  Except  for  the 
label,  the  "Finest  Columbia  Salmon"  was 
ready  for  the  market.  I  was  impressed 
not  so  much  with  the  speed  of  the  .manu- 
facture as  the  character  of  the  factory. 
Inside,  on  a  floor  ninety  by  forty,  the 
most  civilized  and  murderous  of  machin- 
ery. Outside,  three  footsteps,  the  thick- 
growing  pines  and  the  immense  solitude 
of  the  hills.  Our  steamer  only  stayed 
twenty  minutes  at  that  place,  but  I 
counted  two  hundred  and  forty  finished 
cans  made  from  the  catch  of  the  previous 
night  ere  I  left  the  slippery,  blood-stained, 
scale-spangled,  oily  floors  and  the  offal- 
smeared  Chinamen. 


AMERICAN   CATCHES.  ^oj 

LUST  OF  SLAUGHTER. 

We  reached  Portland,  California  and  I 
crying  for  salmon,  and  a  real  estate  man, 
to  whom  we  had  been  intrusted  by  an 
insurance  man,  met  us  in  the  street,  say- 
ing that  fifteen  miles  away,  across  coun- 
try, we  should  come  upon  a  place  called 
Clackamas,  where  we  might  perchance 
find  what  we  desired.  And  California, 
his  coat-tails  flying  in  the  wind,  ran  to  a 
livery-stable  and  chartered  a  wagon  and 
team  forthwith.  I  could  push  the  wagon 
about  with  one  hand,  so  light  was  its 
structure.  The  team  was  purely  Ameri- 
can—  that  is  to  say,  almost  human  in  its 
intelligence  and  docility.  Some  one  said 
that  the  roads  were  not  good  on  the  way 
to  Clackamas,  and  warned  us  against 
smashing  the  springs.  "  Portland,"  who 
had  watched  the  preparations,  finally 
reckoned  ''He'd  come  along,  too;"  and 


308  AMERICAN   NOTES. 

under  heavenly  skies  we  three  compan- 
ions of  a  day  set  forth,  California  care- 
fully lashing  our  rods  into  the  carriage, 
and  the  by-standers  overwhelming  us  with 
directions  as  to  the  sawmills  we  were  to 
pass,  the  ferries  we  were  to  cross,  and  the 
sign-posts  we  were  to  seek  signs  from. 
Half  a  mile  from  this  city  of  fifty  thou- 
sand souls  we  struck  (and  this  must  be 
taken  literally)  a  plank  road  that  would 
have  been  a  disgrace  to  an  Irish  village. 


OFF  FOR  CLACKAMAS. 

Then  six  miles  of  macadamized  road 
showed  us  that  the  team  could  move.  A 
railway  ran  between  us  and  the  banks  of 
the  Willamette,  and  another  above  us 
through  the  mountains.  All  the  land 
was  dotted  with  small  townships,  and  the 
roads  were  full  of  farmers  in  their  town 


AMERICAN   CATCHES.  309 

wagons,  bunches  of  tow-haired,  boggle- 
eyed  urchins  sitting  in  the  hay  behind. 
The  men  generally  looked  like  loafers,  but 
their  women  were  all  well  dressed. 

Brown  braiding  on  a  tailor-made  jacket 
does  not,  however,  consort  with  hay- 
wagons.  Then  we  struck  into  the  woods 
along  what  California  called  a  camina 
reale — a  good  rGad  —  and  Portland  a 
"  fair  track."  It  wound  in  and  out  among 
fire-blackened  stumps  under  pine  trees, 
along  the  corners  of  log  fences,  through 
hollows,  which  must  be  hopeless  marsh  in 
the  winter,  and  up  absurd  gradients.  But 
nowhere  throughout  its  length  did  I  see 
any  evidence  of  road-making.  There  was 
a  track  —  you  couldn't  well  get  off  it, 
and  it  was  all  you  could  do  to  stay  on  it. 
The  dust  lay  a  foot  thick  in  the  blind  ruts, 
and  under  the  dust  we  found  bits  of  plank- 
ing and  bundles  of  brushwood  that  sent 


310  AMERICAN   NOTES. 

the  wagon  bounding  into  the  air.  The 
journey  in  itself  was  a  delight.  Some- 
times we  crashed  through  bracken  ;  anon, 
where  the  blackberries  grew  rankest,  we 
found  a  lonely  little  cemetery,  the  wooden 
rails  all  awry  and  the  pitiful,  stumpy  head- 
stones nodding  drunkenly  at  the  soft 
green  mullions.  Then,  with  oaths  and  the 
sound  of  rent  underwood,  a  yoke  of 
mighty  bulls  would  swing  down  a  "  skid  " 
road,  hauling  a  forty-foot  log  along  a 
rudely  made  slide. 

A  valley  full  of  wheat  and  cherry  trees 
succeeded,  and  halting  at  a  house,  we 
bought  ten-pound  weight  of  luscious  black 
cherries  for  something  less  than  a  rupee, 
and  got  a  drink  of  icy-cold  water  for 
nothing,  while  the  untended  team  browsed 
sagaciously  by  the  roadside.  Once  we 
found  a  wayside  camp  of  horse-dealers 
lounging  by  a  pool,  ready  for  a  sale  or  a 


AMERICAN   CATCHES.  3H 


swap,  and  once  two  sun-tanned  youngsters 
shot  down  a  hill  on  Indian  ponies,  their 
full  creels  banging  from  the  high- 
pommeled  saddle.  They  had  been  fishing, ' 
and  were  our  brethren  therefore.  We 
shouted  aloud  in  chorus  to  scare  a  wild 
cat;  we  squabbled  over  the  reasons  that 
had  led  a  snake  to  cross  a  road;  we 
heaved  bits  of  bark  at  a  venturesome 
chipmunk,  who  was  really  the  little  gray 
squirrel  of  India,  and  had  come  to  call  on 
me  ;  we  lost  our  way,  and  got  the  wagon 
so  beautifully  fixed  on  a  khud-bound  road 
that  we  had  to  tie  the  two  hind  wheels  to 
get  it  down. 

Above  all,  California  told  tales  of 
Nevada  and  Arizona,  of  lonely  nights 
spent  out  prospecting,  the  slaughter  of 
deer  and  the  chase  of  men,  of  woman  — 
lovely  woman  —  who  is  a  firebrand  in  a 
Western  city  and  leads  to  the  popping  of 


312 


AMERICAN   NOTES. 


pistols,  and  of  the  sudden  changes  and 
chances  of  Fortune,  who  delights  in  mak- 
ing the  miner  or  the  lumberman  a  quad- 
ruplicate millionaire  and  in  "  busting  "  the 
railroad  king. 

A  DAY  TO  BE  REMEMBERED. 

That  was  a  day  to  be  remembered,  and 
it  had  only  begun  when  we  drew  rein  at  a 
tiny  farmhouse  on  the  banks  of  the  Clack- 
amas and  sought  horse  feed  and  lodging, 
ere  we  hastened  to  the  river  that  broke 
over  a  weir  not  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away. 
Imagine  a  stream  seventy  yards  broad 
divided  by  a  pebbly  island,  running  over 
seductive  "  riffles  "  and  swirling  into  deep, 
quiet  pools,  where  the  good  salmon  goes 
to  smoke  his  pipe  after  meals.  Get  such 
a  stream  amid  fields  of  breast-high  crops 
surrounded  by  hills  of  pines,  throw  in 
where  you  please  quiet  water,  long-fenced 


AMERICAN   CATCHES. 


313 


meadows,  and  a  hundred-foot  bluff  just  to 
keep  the  scenery  from  growing  too  monot- 
onous, and  you  will  get  some  faint  notion 
of  the  Clackamas.  The  weir  had  been 
erected  to  pen  the  Chenook  salmon  from 
going  farther  up-stream.  We  could  see 
them,  twenty  or  thirty  pounds,  by  the 
score  in  the  deep  pools,  or  flying  madly 
against  the  weir  and  foolishly  skinning 
their  noses.  They  were  not  our  prey,  for 
they  would  not  rise  at  a  fly,  and  we  knew 
it.  All  the  same,  when  one  made  his  leap 
against  the  weir,  and  landed  on  the  foot- 
plank  with  a  jar  that  shook  the  board  I 
was  standing  on,  I  would  fain  have 
claimed  him  for  my  own  capture. 

Portland  had  no  rod.  He  held  the  gaff 
and  the  whisky.  California  sniffed  up- 
stream and  down-stream,  across  the  racing 
water,  chose  his  ground,  and  let  the 
gaudy  fly  drop   in  the  tail  of  a  riffle.     I 


3«4 


AMERICAN   NOTES. 


was  getting  my  rod  together,  when  I 
heard  the  joyous  shriek  of  the  reel  and 
the  yells  of  California,  and  three  feet  of 
living  silver  leaped  into  the  air  far  across 
the  water.     The  forces  were  engaged. 


BATTLE  ROYAL  WITH  SALMON. 

The  salmon  tore  up-stream,  the  tense 
line  cutting  the  water  like  a  tide-rip  be- 
hind him,  and  the  light  bamboo  bowed  to 
breaking.  What  happened  thereafter  I 
can  not  tell.  California  swore  and  prayed, 
and  Portland  shouted  advice,  and  I  did  all 
three  for  what  appeared  to  be  half  a  day, 
but  was  in  reality  a  little  over  a  quarter  of 
an  hour,  and  sullenly  our  fish  came  home 
with  spurts  of  temper,  dashes  head  on  and 
sarabands  in  the  air,  but  home  to  the 
bank  came  he,  and  the  remorseless  reel 
gathered  up  the  thread  of  his  life  inch  by 


AMERICAN    CATCHES.  315 

inch.  We  landed  him  in  a  little  bay,  and 
the  spring  weight  in  his  gorgeous  gills 
checked  at  eleven  and  one-half  pounds. 
Eleven  and  one-half  pounds  of  fighting 
salmon  !  We  danced  a  war-dance  on  the 
pebbles,  and  California  caught  me  round 
the  waist  in  a  hu^f  that  went  near  to  break- 
ing  my  ribs,  while  he  shouted  : 

"  Partner  !  Partner  !  This  is  glory  ! 
Now  you  catch  your  fish  !  Twenty-four 
years  I've  waited  for  this  !" 

I  went  into  that  icy-cold  river  and  made 
my  cast  just  above  the  weir,  and  all  but 
foul-hooked  a  blue-and-black  water-snake 
with  a  coral  mouth  who  coiled  herself  on 
a  stone  and  hissed  maledictions. 

The  next  cast  —  ah,  the  pride  of  it,  the 
regal  splendor  of  it !  the  thrill  that  ran 
down  from  finger-tip  to  toe!  Then  the 
water  boiled.  He  broke  for  the  fly  and 
got  it.  •  There  remained  enough  sense  in 


5  1  6  AMERICAN   NOTES. 

me  to  give  him  all  he  wanted,  when  he 
jumped  not  once,  but  twenty  times,  before 
the  up-stream  flight  that  ran  my  line  out 
to  the  last  half  dozen  turns,  and  I  saw  the 
nickeled  reel-bar  glitter  under  the  thin- 
ning green  coils.  My  thumb  was  burned 
deep  when  I  strove  to  stopper  the  line. 

I  did  not  feel  it  till  later,  for  my  soul 
was  out  in  the  dancing  weir,  praying  for 
him  to  turn  ere  he  took  my  tackle  away. 
And  the  prayer  was  heard.  As  I  bowed 
back,  the  butt  of  the  rod  on  my  left  hip- 
bone and  the  top  joint  dipping  like  unto 
a  weeping  willow,  he  turned  and  accepted 
each  inch  of  slack  that  I  could  by  any 
means  get  in  as  a  favor  from  on  high. 
There  lie  several  sorts  of  success  in  this 
world  that  taste  well  in  the  moment  of 
enjoyment,  but  I  question  whether  the 
stealthy  theft  of  line  from  an  able-bodied 
salmon,  who  knows  exactly  what  you  are 


AMERICAN   CATCHES. 


3*7 


doing  and  why  you  are  doing  it,  is 
not  sweeter  than  any  other  victory 
within  human  scope.  Like  California's 
fish,  he  ran  at  me  head  on,  and  leaped 
against  the  line,  but  the  Lord  gave  me 
two  hundred  and  fifty  pairs  of  fingers 
in  that  hour.  The  banks  and  the  pine 
trees  danced  dizzily  round  me,  but  I  only 
reeled  —  reeled  as  for  life  —  reeled  for 
hours,  and  at  the  end  of  the  reeling  con- 
tinued to  give  him  the  butt  while  he 
sulked  in  a  pool.  California  was  farther 
up  the  reach,  and  with  the  corner  of  my 
eye  I  could  see  him  casting  with  long 
casts  and  much  skill.  Then  he  struck, 
and  my  fish  broke  for  the  weir  in  the  same 
instant,  and  down  the  reach  we  came, 
California  and  I,  reel  answering  reel  even 
as  the  morning  stars  sing  together. 


^l8  AMERICAN   NOTES. 

SWEETS  OF  VICTORY. 

The  first  wild  enthusiasm  of  capture 
had  died  away.  We  were  both  at  work 
now  in  deadly  earnest  to  prevent  the 
lines  fouling,  to  stall  off  a  down-stream 
rush  for  shaggy  water  just  above  the  weir, 
and  at  the  same  time  to  get  the  fish  into 
the  shallow  bay  down-stream  that  gave 
the  best  practicable  landing.  Portland 
bid  us  both  be  of  good  heart,  and  volun- 
teered to  take  the  rod  from  my  hands. 

I  would  rather  have  died  among  the 
pebbles  than  surrender  my  right  to  play 
and  land  a  salmon,  weight  unknown,  with 
an  eieht-ounce  rod.  I  heard  California, 
at  my  ear,  it  seemed,  gasping :  "  He's  a 
fighter  from  Fightersville,  sure  ! "  as  his 
fish  made  a  fresh  break  across  the  stream. 
I  saw  Portland  fall  off  a  log  fence,  break 
the  overhanging  bank,  and  clatter  down 
to  the  pebbles,  all  sand  and  landing  net, 


AMERICAN   CATCHES.  319 

and  I  dropped  on  a  log  to  rest  for  a 
moment.  As  I  drew  breath  the  weary 
hands  slackened  their  hold,  and  I  forgot 
to  give  him  the  butt. 

A  wild  scutter  in  the  water,  a  plunge, 
and  a  break  for  the  head-waters  of  the 
Clackamas  was  my  reward,  and  the  weary 
toil  of  reeling  in  with  one  eye  under  the 
water  and  the  other  on  the  top  joint  of 
the  rod  was  renewed.  Worst  of  all,  I 
was  blocking  California's  path  to  the  little 
landing  bay  aforesaid,  and  he  had  to  halt 
and  tire  his  prize  where  he  was. 

"  The  father  of  all  the  salmon  ! "  he 
shouted.  "  For  the  love  of  Heaven,  get 
your  trout  to  bank,  Johnny  Bull !  " 

But  I  could  do  no  more.  Even  the 
insult  failed  to  move  me.  The  rest  of 
the  game  was  with  the  salmon.  He  suf- 
fered himself  to  be  drawn,  skipping  with 
pretended  delight  at  getting  to  the  haven 


320  AMERICAN   NOTES. 

where  I  would  fain  bring  him.  Yet  no 
sooner  did  he  feel  shoal  water  under  his 
ponderous  belly  than  he  backed  like 
a  torpedo  boat,  and  the  snarl  of  the  reel 
told  me  that  my  labor  was  in  vain.  A 
dozen  times,  at  least,  this  happened  ere 
the  line  hinted  he  had  given  up  the  battle 
and  would  be  towed  in.  He  was  towed. 
The  landing  net  was  useless  for  one  of 
his  size,  and  I  would  not  have  him  gaffed. 
I  stepped  into  the  shallows  and  heaved 
him  out  with  a  respectful  hand  under  the 
gill,  for  which  kindness  he  battered  me 
about  the  legs  with  his  tail,  and  I  felt  the 
strength  of  him  and  was  proud.  Califor- 
nia had  taken  my  place  in  the  shallows, 
his  fish  hard  held.  I  was  up  the  bank 
lying  full  length  on  the  sweet-scented 
grass  and  gasping  in  company  with  my 
first  salmon  caught,  played,  and  landed  on 
an  eight-ounce  rod.     My  hands  were  cut 


AMERICAN   CATCHES. 


321 


and  bleeding,  I  was  dripping  with  sweat, 
spangled  like  a  harlequin  with  scales, 
water  from  my  waist  down,  nose  peeled 
by  the  sun,  but  utterly,  supremely,  and 
consummately  happy. 

The  beauty,  the  darling,  the  daisy,  my 
Salmon  Bahadur,  weighed  twelve  pounds, 
and  I  had  been  seven  and  thirty  minutes 
bringing  him  to  bank!  He  had  been 
lightly  hooked  on  the  angle  of  the  right 
jaw,  and  the  hook  had  not  wearied  him. 
That  hour  I  sat  among  princes  and 
crowned  heads  greater  than  them  all. 
Below  the  bank  we  heard  California  scuf- 
fling with  his  salmon  and  swearing  Span- 
ish oaths.  Portland  and  I  assisted  at  the 
capture,  and  the  fish  dragged  the  spring 
balance  out  by  the  roots.  It  was  only 
constructed  to  weigh  up  to  fifteen  pounds. 
We  stretched  the  three  fish  on  the  grass 

—  the  eleven  and  a  half,  the  twelve,  and 
21 


^2  2  AMERICAN   NOTES. 

fifteen-pounder  —  and  we  gave  an  oath 
that  all  who  came  after  should  merely  be 
weighed  and  put  back  again. 


RESTING  ON  LAURELS. 

How  shall  I  tell  the  glories  of  that  day 
so  that  you  may  be  interested  ?  Again 
and  again  did  California  and  I  prance 
down  that  reach  to  the  little  bay,  each 
with  a  salmon  in  tow,  and  land  him  in  the 
shallows.  Then  Portland  took  my  rod 
and  caught  some  ten-pounders,  and  my 
spoon  was  carried  away  by  an  unknown 
leviathan.  Each  fish,  for  the  merits  of 
the  three  that  had  died  so  gamely,  was  { 
hastily  hooked  on  the  balance  and  flung 
back.  Portland  recorded  the  weight  in  a 
pocket-book,  for  he  was  a  real  estate  man. 
Each  fish  fought  for  all  he  was  worth,  and 
none    more    savagely   than   the   smallest, 


AMERICAN   CATCHES. 


323 


a  game  little  six-pounder.  At  the  end  of 
six  hours  we  added  up  the  list.  Read  it. 
Total :  Sixteen  fish  ;  aggregate  weight, 
one  hundred  and  forty  pounds.  The 
score  in  detail  runs  something  like  this  — 
it  is  only  interesting  to  those  concerned  : 
Fifteen,  eleven  and  a  half,  twelve,  ten, 
nine  and  three-quarters,  eight,  and  so 
forth ;  as  I  have  said,  nothing  under  six 
pounds,  and  three  ten-pounders. 

Very  solemnly  and  thankfully  we  put 
up  our  rods  —  it  was  glory  enough  for  all 
time  —  and  returned,  weeping  in  each 
other's  arms,  weeping  tears  of  pure  joy,  to 
that  simple,  bare-legged  family  in  the 
packing-case  house  by  the  water  side. 

The  old  farmer  recollected  days  and 
nights  of  fierce  warfare  with  the  Indians 
"way  back  in  the  fifties,"  when  every 
ripple  of  the  Columbia  River  and  her 
tributaries  hid  covert  danger.     God  had 


324  AMERICAN   NOTES. 

dowered  him  with  a  queer,  crooked  gift 
of  expression  and  a  fierce  anxiety  for  the 
welfare  of  his  two  little  sons  —  tanned  and 
reserved  children,  who  attended  school 
daily  and  spoke  good  English  in  a  strange 
tongue. 

His  wife  was  an  austere  woman,  who 
had  once  been  kindly,  and  perhaps 
handsome. 

Very  many  years  of  toil  had  taken  the 
elasticity  out  of  step  and  voice.  She 
looked  for  nothing  better  than  everlasting 
work  —  the  chafing  detail  of  housework 
—  and  then  a  grave  somewhere  up  the 
hill  among  the  blackberries  and  the  pines. 
But  in  her  grim  way  she  sympathized  with 
her  eldest  daughter,  a  small  and  silent 
maiden  of  eighteen,  who  had  thoughts 
very  far  from  the  meals  she  tended  and 
the  pans  she  scoured. 

We  stumbled   into  the  household  at  a 


AMERICAN   CATCHES.  325 

crisis,  and  there  was  a  deal  of  downright 
humanity  in  that  same.  A  bad,  wicked 
dressmaker  had  promised  the  maiden  a 
dress  in  time  for  a  to-morrow's  railway  jour- 
ney, and,  though  the  barefooted  Georgy, 
who  stood  in  very  wholesome  awe  of  his 
sister,  had  scoured  the  woods  on  a  pony 
in  search,  that  dress  never  arrived.  So, 
with  sorrow  in  her  heart  and  a  hundred 
Sister-Anne  glances  up  the  road,  she 
waited  upon  the  strangers,  and,  I  doubt 
not,  cursed  them  for  the  wants  that  stood 
between  her  and  her  need  for  tears.  It 
was  a  genuine  little  tragedy.  The  mother, 
in  a  heavy,  passionless  voice,  rebuked  her 
impatience,  yet  sat  up  far  into  the  night, 
bowed  over  a  heap  of  sewing  for  the 
daughter's  benefit. 

These  things  I  beheld  in  the  long,  mari- 
gold-scented twilight  and  whispering 
night,  loafing  round  the  little  house  with 


326  AMERICAN   NOTES. 

California,  who  unfolded  himself  like  a 
lotus  to  the  moon  ;  or,  in  the  little  boarded 
bunk  that  was  our  bedroom,  swapping 
tales  with  Portland  and  the  old  man. 
Most  of  the  yarns  began  in  this  way  : 
"  Red  Larry  was  a  bull-puncher  back  of 
Lone  County,  Montana,"  or  "  There  was 
a  man  riding  the  trail  met  a  jack-rabbit 
sitting  in  a  cactus,"  or  "  'Bout  the  time  of 
the  San  Diego  land  boom,  a  woman  from 
Monterey,"  etc. 

You  can  try  to  piece  out  for  yourselves 
what  sort  of  stories  they  were. 


ASTRIDE  THE  CLOUDS. 


Once  upon  a  time  there  was  a  carter 
who  brought  his  team  and  a  friend  into 
the  Yellowstone  Park  without  due 
thought.  Presently  they  came  upon  a 
few  of  the  natural  beauties  of  the  place, 
and  that  carter  turned  his  team  into  his 
friend's  team,  howling : 

"  Get  out  o'  this,  Jim.  All  hell's  alight 
under  our  noses! " 

And  they  called  the  place  Hell's  Half- 
Acre  to  this  day  to  witness  if  the  carter 
lied. 

We,  too,  the  old  lady  from  Chicago, 
her  husband,  Tom,  and  the  good  little 
mares,  came  to  HelPs  Half-Acre,  which  is 
about  sixty  acres  in  extent,  and  when  Tom 
said  : 

"  Would  you  like  to  drive  over  it  ?  " 

(327) 


^23  AMERICAN   NOTES. 

We  said  : 

"Certainly  not,  and  if  you  do  we  shall 
report  you  to  the  park  authorities." 

There  was  a  plain,  blistered,  peeled,  and 
abominable,  and  it  was  given  over  to  the 
sportings  and  spoutings  of  devils  who 
threw  mud,  and  steam,  and  dirt  at  each 
other  with  whoops,  and  halloos,  and  bel- 
lowing curses. 

The  places  smelled  of  the  refuse  of  the 
pit,  and  that  odor  mixed  with  the  clean, 
wholesome  aroma  of  the  pines  in  our  nos- 
trils throughout  the  day. 


LAID  OUT  LIKE  OLLENDORF. 

This  Yellowstone  Park  is  laid  out  like 
Ollendorf,  in  exercises  of  progressive  diffi- 
culty. Hell's  Half-Acre  was  a  prelude  to 
ten  or  twelve  miles  of  geyser  formation. 

We  passed  hot  streams  boiling  in  the 


ASTRIDE    THE   CLOUDS. 


329 


forest  ;  saw  whiffs  of  steam  beyond  these, 
and  yet  other  whiffs  breaking  through  the 
misty  green  hills  in  the  far  distance  ;  we 
trampled  on  sulphur  in  crystals,  and 
sniffed  things  much  worse  than  any 
sulphur  which  is  known  to  the  upper 
world  ;  and  so  journeying,  bewildered  with 
the  novelty,  came  upon  a  really  park-like 
place  where  Tom  suggested  we  should  get 
out  and  play  with  the  geysers  on  foot. 

Imagine  mighty  green  fields  splattered 
with  lime  beds,  all  the  flowers  of  the 
summer  growing  up  to  the  very  edge  of 
the  lime.  That  was  our  first  glimpse  of 
the  geyser  basins. 

The  buggy  had  pulled  up  close  to  a 
rough,  broken,  blistered  cone  of  spelter 
stuff  between  ten  and  twenty  feet  high. 
There  was  trouble  in  that  place — moan- 
ing, splashing,  gurgling,  and  the  clank  of 
machinery.      A    spurt    of    boiling  water 


33o 


AMERICAN   NOTES. 


jumped  into  the  air,  and  a  wash  of  water 
followed. 

I  removed  swiftly.  The  old  lady  from 
Chicago  shrieked.  "  What  a  wicked 
waste  !  "  said  her  husband. 

I  think  they  call  it  the  Riverside  Gey- 
ser. Its  spout  was  torn  and  ragged  like 
the  mouth  of  a  gun  when  a  shell  has  burst 
there.  It  grumbled  madly  for  a  moment 
or  two,  and  then  was  still.  I  crept  over 
the  steaming  lime — it  was  the  burning 
marl  on  which  Satan  lay  —  and  looked 
fearfully  down  its  mouth.  You  should 
never  look  a  gift  geyser  in  the  mouth. 


DEVIL'S  BETHESDA. 


I  beheld  a  horrible,  slippery,  slimy  fun- 
nel with  water  rising  and  falling  ten  feet 
at  a  time.  Then  the  water  rose  to  lip 
level  with  a  rush,  and  an  infernal  bubbling 


ASTRIDE   THE   CLOUDS.  331 

troubled  this  Devil's  Bethesda  before  the 
sullen  heave  of  the  crest  of  a  wave  lapped 
over  the  edge  and  made  me  run. 

Mark  the  nature  of  the  human  soul !  I 
had  begun  with  awe,  not  to  say  terror,  for 
this  was  my  first  experience  of  such  things. 
I  stepped  back  from  the  banks  of  the 
Riverside  Geyser,  saying : 

"  Pooh  !     Is  that  all  it  can  do  ?" 

Yet  for  aught  I  knew,  the  whole  thing 
might  have  blown  up  at  a  minute's  notice, 
she,  he,  or  it  being  an  arrangement  of 
uncertain  temper. 

We  drifted  on,  up  that  miraculous  val- 
ley. On  either  side  of  us  were  hills  from 
a  thousand  or  fifteen  hundred  feet  high, 
wooded  from  crest  to  heel.  As  far  as  the 
eye  could  range  forward  were  columns  of 
steam  in  the  air,  misshapen  lumps  of  lime, 
mist-like  preadamite  monsters,  still  pools 
of  turquoise-blue  stretches  of  blue  corn- 


*>->2  AMERICAN   NOTES. 

flowers,  a  river  that  coiled  on  itself  twenty 
times,  pointed  bowlders  of  strange  colors, 
and  ridges  of  glaring,  staring  white. 

A  moon-faced  trooper  of  German  extrac- 
tion —  never  was  park  so  carefully  patroled 
—  came  up  to  inform  us  that  as  yet  we 
had  not  seen  any  of  the  real  geysers  ;  that 
they  were  all  a  mile  or  so  up  the  valley, 
and  tastefully  scattered  round  the  hotel  in 
which  we  would  rest  for  the  night. 


THE  TROOPER'S  STORY. 

America  is  a  free  country,  but  the  citi- 
zens look  down  on  the  soldier.  I  had 
to  entertain  that  trooper.  The  old  lady 
from  Chicago  would  have  none  of  him  ; 
so  we  loafed  alone  together,  now  across 
half-rotten  pine  logs  sunk  in  swampy 
ground,  anon  over  the  ringing  geyser 
formation,  then  pounding  through  river- 


ASTRIDE   THE   CLOUDS.  233 

J  J  J 

sand  or  brushing  knee-deep  through  long 
grass. 

"And  why  did  you  enlist  ?"  said  I. 

The  moon-faced  one's  face  beean  to 
work.  I  thought  he  would  have  a  fit,  but 
he  told  me  a  story  instead  —  such  a  nice 
tale  of  a  naughty  little  girl  who  wrote 
pretty  love  letters  to  two  men  at  once. 
She  was  a  simple  village  wife,  but  a 
wicked  "family  novelette"  countess 
couldn't  have  accomplished  her  ends  bet- 
ter. She  drove  one  man  nearly  wild  with 
the  pretty  little  treachery,  and  the  other 
man  abandoned  her  and  came  West  to 
forget  the  trickery. 

Moon-face  was  that  man. 


GOBLIN  BATHTUBS. 


We   rounded   and    limped   over   a  low 
spur  of  hill,  and  came  out  upon  a  field  of 


334 


AMERICAN   NOTES. 


aching,  snowy  lime  rolled  in  sheets, 
twisted  into  knots,  riven  with  rents,  and 
diamonds,  and  stars,  stretching  for  more 
than  half  a  mile  in  every  direction. 

On  this  place  of  despair  lay  most  of  the 
big,  bad  geysers  who  know  when  there  is 
trouble  in  Krakatoa,  who  tell  the  pines 
when  there  is  a  cyclone  on  the  Atlantic 
sea-board,  and  who  are  exhibited  to  visi- 
tors under  pretty  and  fanciful  names. 

The  first  mound  that  I  encountered 
belonged  to  a  goblin  who  was  splashing 
in  his  tub. 

I  heard  him  kick,  pull  a  shower-bath  on 
his  shoulders,  gasp,  crack  his  joints,  and 
rub  himself  down  with  a  towel  ;  then  he 
let  the  water  out  of  the  bath,  as  a  thought- 
ful man  should,  and  it  all  sunk  down  out 
of  sight  till  another  goblin  arrived. 

So  we  looked  and  we  wondered  at  the 
Beehive,  whose  mouth  is  built  up  exactly 


ASTRIDE   THE   CLOUDS. 


335 


like  a  hive,  at  the  Turban  (which  is  not  in 
the  least  like  a  turban),  and  at  many, 
many  other  geysers,  hot  holes,  and 
springs.  Some  of  them  rumbled,  some 
hissed,  some  went  off  spasmodically,  and 
others  lay  dead  still  in  sheets  of  sapphire 
and  beryl. 

TURNING  A  GEYSER'S  STOMACH. 

Will  you  believe  that  even  these  terri- 
ble creatures  have  to  be  guarded  by  the 
troopers  to  prevent  the  irreverent  Ameri- 
cans from  chipping  the  cones  to  pieces,  or, 
worse  still,  making  the  geyser  sick?  If 
you  take  a  small  barrel  full  of  soft-soap 
and  drop  it  down  a  geyser's  mouth,  that 
geyser  will  presently  be  forced  to  lay  all 
before  you,  and  for  days  afterward  will  be 
of  an  irritated  and  inconstant  stomach. 

When  they  told  me  the  tale  I  was  filled 
with  sympathy.      Now   I   wish  that  I  had 


336  AMERICAN    NOTES. 

soft-soap  and  tried  the  experiment  on 
some  lonely  little  beast  far  away  in  the 
woods.  It  sounds  so  probable  and  so 
human. 

Yet  he  would  be  a  bold  man  who  would 
administer  emetics  to  the  Giantess.  She 
is  flat-lipped,  having  no  mouth  ;  she  looks 
like  a  pool,  fifty  feet  long  and  thirty  wide, 
and  there  is  no  ornamentation  about  her. 
At  irregular  intervals  she  speaks  and 
sends  up  a  volume  of  water  over  two 
hundred  feet  high  to  begin  with,  then  she 
is  angry  for  a  day  and  a  half  —  sometimes 
for  two  days. 

Owing  to  her  peculiarity  of  going  mad 
in  the  night,  not  many  people  have  seen 
the  Giantess  at  her  finest  ;  but  the  clamor 
of  her  unrest,  men  say,  shakes  the  wooden 
hotel,  and  echoes  like  thunder  among  the 
hills. 


ASTRIDE   THE   CLOUDS.  ^^J 

UNCLE  SAM'S  SOLDIERS. 

The  congregation  returned  to  the  hotel 
to  put  down  their  impressions  in  diaries 
and  note-books,  which  they  wrote  up  os- 
tentatiously in  the  verandas.  It  was  a 
sweltering  hot  day,  albeit  we  stood  some- 
what higher  than  the  level  of  Simla,  and 
I  left  that  raw  pine  creaking  caravansary 
for  the  cool  shade  of  a  clump  of  pines, 
between  whose  trunks  glimmered  tents. 

A  batch  of  United  States  troopers  came 
down  the  road  and  flung  themselves  across 
the  country  into  their  rough  lines.  The 
Melican  cavalryman  can  ride,  though  he 
keeps  his  accouterments  pig-fashion  and 
his  horse  cow-fashion. 

I  was  free  of  that  camp  in  five  minutes 
—  free  to  play  with  the  heavy,  lumpy 
carbines,  have  the  saddles  stripped,  and 
punch  the  horses  knowingly  in  the  ribs. 
One  of  the  men  had  been  in  the  fight  with 


333 


AMERICAN   NOTES. 


"  Wrap-up-his-Tail,11  and  he  told  me  how 
that  great  chief,  his  horse's  tail  tied  up  in 
red  calico,  swaggered  in  front  of  the 
United  States  cavalry,  challenging  all  to 
single  combat.  But  he  was  slain,  and  a 
few  of  his  tribe  with  him. 

"There's  no  use  in  an  Indian,  any- 
way," concluded  my  friend. 

A  couple  of  cow-boys  —  real  cow-boys 
—  jingled  through  the  camp  amid  a 
shower  of  mild  chaff.  They  were  on 
their  way  to  Cook  City,  I  fancy,  and  I 
know  that  they  never  washed.  But  they 
were  picturesque  ruffians  exceedingly, 
with  long  spurs,  hooded  stirrups,  slouch 
hats,  fur  weather-cloth  over  their  knees, 
and  pistol-butts  just  easy  to  hand. 

11  The  cow-boy's  goin'  under  before 
long,"  said  my  friend.  "  Soon  as  the 
country's  settled  up  he'll  have  to  go.  But 
he's  mighty  useful  now.  What  would  we 
do  without  the  cow-boy  ?  " 


ASTRTDE   THE   CLOUDS.  339 

WHAT  COW-BOYS  ARE  GOOD  FOR. 

"As  how?"  said  I,  and  the  camp 
laughed. 

"  He  has  the  money.  We  have  the 
skill.  He  comes  in  winter  to  play  poker 
at  the  military  posts.  We  play  poker  — 
a  few.  When  he's  lost  his  money  we 
make  him  drunk  and  let  him  go.  Some- 
times we  get  the  wrong  man." 

And  he  told  me  a  tale  of  an  innocent 
cow-boy  who  turned  up,  cleaned  out,  at 
an  army  post,  and  played  poker  for  thirty- 
six  hours.  But  it  was  the  post  that 
was  cleaned  out  when  that  long-haired 
Caucasian  removed  himself,  heavy  with 
everybody's  pay  and  declining  the  prof- 
fered liquor. 

"Noaw,"  said  the  historian,  "I  don't 
play  with  no  cow-boy  unless  he's  a  little 
bit  drunk  first." 

Ere  I  departed  I  gathered  from  more 


34° 


AMERICAN   NOTES. 


than  one  man  the  significant  fact  that  up 
to  one  hundred  yards  he  felt  absolutely 
secure  behind  his  revolver. 

"In  England,  I  understand,"  quoth  the 
limber  youth  from  the  South,  "  in  Eng- 
land a  man  isn't  allowed  to  play  with 
no  firearms.  He's  got  to  be  taught 
all  that  when  he  enlists.  I  didn't  want 
much  teaching  how  to  shoot  straight  'fore 
I  served  Uncle  Sam.  And  that's  just 
where  it  is.  But  you  was  talking  about 
your  Horse  Guards  now  ?" 

I  explained  briefly  some  peculiarities  of 
equipment  connected  with  our  crackest 
crack  cavalry.  I  grieve  to  say  the  camp 
roared. 

"  Take  'em  over  swampy  ground.  Let 
'em  run  around  a  bit  an'  work  the  starch 
out  of  'em,  an'  then,  Almighty,  if  we 
wouldn't  plug  'em  at  ease  I'd  eat  their 
horses." 


ASTRIDE   THE   CLOUDS.  341 

A  HENRY  JAMES  MAIDEN. 

There  was  a  maiden  —  a  very  little 
maiden  —  who  had  just  stepped  out  of  one 
of  James'  novels.  She  owned  a  delight- 
ful mother  and  an  equally  delightful 
father  —  a  heavy-eyed,  slow-voiced  man  of 
finance.  The  parents  thought  that  their 
daughter  wanted  change. 

She  lived  in  New  Hampshire.  Accord- 
ingly, she  had  dragged  them  up  to  Alaska 
and  to  the  Yosemite  Valley,  and  was  now 
returning  leisurely,  via  the  Yellowstone, 
just  in  time  for  the  tail-end  of  the  summer 
season  at  Saratoga. 

We  had  met  once  or  twice  before  in  the 
park,  and  I  had  been  amazed  and  amused 
at  her  critical  commendation  of  the 
wonders  that  she  saw.  From  that  very 
resolute  little  mouth  I  received  a  lecture 
on  American  literature,  the  nature  and 
inwardness    of    Washington    society,    the 


342 


AMERICAN   NOTES. 


precise  value  of  Cable's  works  as  com- 
pared with  Uncle  Remus  Harris,  and 
a  few  other  things  that  had  nothing 
whatever  to  do  with  geysers,  but  were 
altogether  pleasant. 

Now,  an  English  maiden  who  had 
stumbled  on  a  dust-grimed,  lime-washed, 
sun-peeled,  collarless  wanderer  come  from 
and  going  to  goodness  knows  where, 
would,  her  mother  inciting  her  and  her 
father  brandishing  his  umbrella,  have  re- 
garded him  as  a  dissolute  adventurer  —  a 
person  to  be  disregarded. 


AMERICAN  VERSUS  ENGLISH  MANNERS. 

Not  so  those  delightful  people  from 
New  Hampshire.  They  were  good 
enough  to  treat  him  —  it  sounds  almost 
incredible  —  as  a  human  being,  possibly 
respectable,  probably  not  in  immediate 
need  of  financial  assistance. 


ASTRIDE    THE   CLOUDS. 


343 


Papa  talked  pleasantly,  „and  to  the 
point. 

The  little  maiden  strove  valiantly  with 
the  accent  of  her  birth  and  that  of  her 
rearing,  and  mamma  smiled  benignly  in 
the  background. 

Balance  this  with  a  story  of  a  young 
English  idiot  I  met  mooning  about  inside 
his  high  collar,  attended  by  a  valet.  He 
condescended  to  tell  me  that  "  you  can't  be 
too  careful  who  you  talk  to  in  these  parts." 
And  stalked  on,  fearing,  I  suppose,  every 
minute  for  his  social  chastity. 

That  man  was  a  barbarian  (I  took  oc- 
casion to  tell  him  so),  for  he  comported 
himself  after  the  manner  of  the  head- 
hunters  and  hunted  of  Assem,  who  are  at 
perpetual  feud  one  with  another. 

You  will  understand  that  these  foolish 
stories  are  introduced  in  order  to  cover 
the  fact  that  this  pen  can  not  describe  the 


344  AMERICAN   NOTES. 

glories  of  the  Upper  Geyser  Basin.  The 
evening  I  spent  under  the  lee  of  the  Castle 
Geyser,  sitting  on  a  log  with  some 
troopers,  and  watching  a  baronial  keep 
forty  feet  high  spouting  hot  water.  If  the 
Castle  went  off  first,  they  said  the  Giantess 
would  be  quiet,  and  vice  versa,  and  then 
they  told  tales  till  the  moon  got  up  and  a 
party  of  campers  in  the  woods  gave  us  all 
something  to  eat. 


CHANCE  CAVALRY  ESCORT. 

Then  came  soft,  turfy  forest  that  dead- 
ened the  wheels,  and  two  troopers  on  de- 
tachment duty  stole  noiselessly  behind  us. 
One  was  the  Wrap-up-his-Tail  man,  and 
they  talked  merrily  while  the  half-broken 
horses  bucked  about  among  the  trees. 
And  so  a  cavalry  escort  was  with  us  for  a 
mile,  till  we  got  to  a  mighty  hill  all  strewn 


ASTRIDE   THE   CLOUDS.  345 

with  moss  agates,  and  everybody  had  to 
jump  out  and  pant  in  that  thin  air.  But 
how  intoxicating  it  was  !  The  old  lady 
from  Chicago  ducked  like  an  emancipated 
hen  as  she  scuttled  about  the  road,  cram- 
ming pieces  of  rock  into  her  reticule.  She 
sent  me  fifty  yards  down  to  the  hillside  to 
pick  up  a  piece  of  broken  bottle  which, 
she  insisted,  was  moss  agate. 

"  I've  some  o'  that  at  home,  an1  they 
shine.     Yes,  you  go  get  it,  young  man." 

As  we  climbed  the  long  path  the  road 
grew  viler  and  viler  till  it  became,  without 
disguise,  the  bed  of  a  torrent ;  and  just 
when  things  were  at  their  rockiest  we 
nearly  fell  into  a  little  sapphire  lake 
—  but  never  sapphire  was  so  blue  — 
called  Mary^s  Lake  ;  and  that  between 
eiodit  and  nine  thousand  feet  above 
the  sea. 

Afterward,  grass  downs,  all  on  a  vehe- 


346  AMERICAN   NOTES. 

ment  slope,  so  that  the  buggy,  following 
the  new-made  road,  ran  on  the  two  off- 
wheels  mostly  till  we  dipped  head-first 
into  a  ford,  climbed  up  a  cliff,  raced  along 
down,  dipped  again,  and  pulled  up  dishev- 
eled at  "Larry's"  for  lunch  and  an 
hour's  rest. 

Then  we  lay  on  the  grass  and  laughed 
with  sheer  bliss  of  being  alive.  This  have 
I  known  once  in  Japan,  once  on  the  banks 
of  the  Columbia,  what  time  the  salmon 
came  in  and  California  howled,  and  once 
again  in  the  Yellowstone  by  the  light  of 
the  eyes  of  the  maiden  from  New  Hamp- 
shire. Four  little  pools  lay  at  my  elbow, 
one  was  of  black  water  (tepid),  one  clear 
water  (cold),  one  clear  water  (hot),  one 
red-  water  (boiling).  My  newly  washed 
handkerchief  covered  them  all,  and  we 
two  marveled  as  children  marvel. 


ASTRIDE   THE   CLOUDS. 


347 


DOING  THE  CANYON. 

"  This  evening  we  shall  do  the  Grand 
Canyon  of  the  Yellowstone,"  said  the 
maiden. 

''Together?"   said    I;    and    she    said,. 
"Yes." 

The  sun  was  beginning  to  sink  when  we 
heard  the  roar  of  falling  waters  and  came 
to  a  broad  river  along  whose  banks  we 
ran.  And  then — I  might  at  a  pinch 
describe  the  infernal  regions,  but  not  the 
other  place.  The  Yellowstone  River  has 
occasion  to  run  through  a  gorge  about 
eight  miles  long.  To  get  to  the  bottom 
of  the  gorge  it  makes  two  leaps,  one  of 
about  one  hundred  and  twenty  and  the 
other  of  three  hundred  feet.  I  investi- 
gated the  upper  or  lesser  fall,  which  is 
close  to  the  hotel. 

Up  to  that  time  nothing  particular  hap- 
pens to  the  Yellowstone  —  its  banks  being 


7.|8  AMERICAN   NOTES. 

only  rocky,  rather  steep,  and  plentifully 
adorned  with  pines. 

At  the  falls  it  comes  round  a  corner, 
green,  solid,  ribbed  with  a  little  foam,  and 
not  more  than  thirty  yards  wide.  Then  it 
goes  over,  still  green,  and  rather  more 
solid  than  before.  After  a  minute  or  two 
you,  sitting  upon  a  rock  directly  above 
the  drop,  begin  to  understand  that  some- 
thing has  occurred  ;  that  the  river  has 
jumped  between  solid  cliff  walls,  and  that 
the  gentle  froth  of  water  lapping  the  sides 
of  the  gorge  below  is  really  the  outcome 
of  great  waves. 

And  the  river  yells  aloud  ;  but  the  cliffs 
do  not  allow  the  yells  to  escape. 

That  inspection  began  with  curiosity 
and  finished  in  terror,  for  it  seemed  that 
the  whole  world  was  sliding  in  chrysolite 
from  under  my  feet.  I  followed  with  the 
others   round  the  corner  to  arrive  at  the 


ASTRIDE   THE   CLOUDS. 


349 


brink  of  the  canyon.  We  had  to  climb  up 
a  nearly  perpendicular  ascent  to  begin 
with,  for  the  ground  rises  more  than  the 
river  drops.  Stately  pine  woods  fringe 
either  lip  of  the  gorge,  which  is  the  gorge 
of  the  Yellowstone.  You'll  find  all  about 
it  in  the  guide  books. 


SOME  WORD-PAINTING. 

All  that  I  can  say  is  that  without  warn- 
ing or  preparation  I  looked  into  a  gulf 
seventeen  hundred  feet  deep,  with  eagles 
and  fishhawks  circling  far  below.  And 
the  sides  of  that  gulf  were  one  wild  welter 
of  color  —  crimson,  emerald,  cobalt,  ocher, 
amber,  honey  splashed  with  port  wine, 
snow  white,  vermilion,  lemon,  and  silver 
gray  in  wide  washes.  The  sides  did  not 
fall  sheer,  but  were  graven  by  time,  and 
water,   and  air,  into   monstrous  heads  of 


35o 


AMERICAN   NOTES. 


kings,  dead  chiefs  —  men  and  women  of 
the  old  time.  So  far  below  that  no  sound 
of  its  strife  could  reach  us,  the  Yellow- 
stone River  ran  a  finger-wide  strip  of  jade 
green. 

The  sunlight  took  those  wondrous 
walls  and  gave  fresh  hues  to  those  that 
nature  had  already  laid  there. 

Evening  crept  through  the  pines  that 
shadowed  us,  but  the  full  glory  of  the  day 
flamed  in  that  canyon  as  we  went  out 
very  cautiously  to  a  jutting  piece  of  rock — 
blood-red  or  pink  it  was  —  that  overhung 
the  deepest  deeps  of  all. 

Now  I  know  what  it  is  to  sit  enthroned 
amid  the  clouds  of  sunset,  as  the  spirits 
sit  in  Blake's  pictures.  Giddiness  took 
away  all  sensation  of  touch  or  form,  but 
the  sense  of  blinding  color  remained. 

When  I  reached  the  mainland  again  I 
had  sworn  that  I  had  been  floating. 


ASTRIDE   THE   CLOUDS. 


35' 


The  maid  from  New  Hampshire  said  no 
word  for  a  very  long  time.  Then  she 
quoted  poetry,  which  was,  perhaps,  the 
best  thing  she  could  have  done. 

"  And  to  think  that  this  show-place  has 
been  going  on  all  these  days,  an'  none  of 
we  ever  saw  it,"  said  the  old  lady  from 
Chicago,  with  an  acid  glance  at  her 
husband. 

''No,  only  the  Injians,"  said  he,  un- 
moved ;  and  the  maiden  and  I  laughed. 


TOYING   WITH,  IMMENSITIES. 

Inspiration  is  fleeting,  beauty  is  vain, 
and  the  power  of  the  mind  for  wonder 
limited.  Though  the  shining  hosts  them- 
selves  had  risen  choiring  from  the  bottom 
of  the  gorge,  they  would  not  have  pre- 
vented her  papa,  and  one  baser  than  he, 
from  rolling  stones  down  those  stupendous 


352  AMERICAN   NOTES. 

rainbow-washed  slides.  Seventeen  hun- 
dred  feet  of  steepest  pitch  and  rather  more 
than  seventeen  hundred  colors  for  log  or 
bowlder  to  whirl  through  ! 

So  we  heaved  things  and  saw  them 
gather  way,  and  bound  from  white  rock  to 
red  or  yellow,  dragging  behind  them  tor- 
rents of  color,  till  the  noise  of  their  de- 
scent ceased,  and  they  bounded  a  hundred 
yards  clear  at  the  last  into  the  'Yellow- 
stone. 

"  I've  been  down  there,"  said  Tom,  that 
evening.  "  It's  easy  to  get  down  if  you're 
careful  —  just  sit  an'  slide  ;  but  getting  up 
is  worse.  An'  I  found  down  below  there 
two  stones  just  marked  with  a  picture  of 
the  canyon.  I  wouldn't  sell  these  rocks 
not  for  fifteen  dollars." 

And  papa  and  I  crawled  down  to  the 
Yellowstone — just  above  the  first  little 
fall  —  to  wet  a  line  for  good  luck.      The 


ASTRIDE   THE   CLOUDS.  353 

round  moon  came  up  and  turned  the  cliffs 
and  pines  into  silver  ;  and  a  two-pound 
trout  came  up  also,  and  we  slew  him 
among  the  rocks,  nearly  tumbling-  into 
that  wild  river. 

^  *r»  ^  ^p  f^  ^w 

Then  out  and  away  to  Livingstone 
once  more.  The  maiden  from  New 
Hampshire  disappeared,  papa  and  mamma 
with  her.  Disappeared,  too,  the  old  lady 
from  Chicago,  and  the  others. 


CHICAGO. 


"  I  know  thy  cunning  and  thy  greed, 
Thy  hard  high  lust  and  willful  deed, 
And  all  thy  glory  loves  to  tell 
Of  specious  gifts  material." 

I  have  struck  a  city— a  real  city  — 
and  they  call  it  Chicago. 

The  other  places  do  not  count.  San 
Francisco  was  a  pleasure  resort  as  well  as 
a  city,  and  Salt  Lake  was  a  phenomenon. 

This  place  is  the  first  American  city  I 
have  encountered.  It  holds  rather  more 
than  a  million  of  people  with  bodies,  and 
stands  on  the  same  sort  of  soil  as  Cal- 
cutta. Having  seen  it,  I  urgently  desire 
never  to  see  it  again.  It  is  inhabited  by 
savages.  Its  water  is  the  water  of  the 
Hooghly,  and  its  air  is  dirt.  Also  it  says 
that  it  is  the  "boss  "  town  of  America. 

(354) 


CHICAGO.  355 

I  do  not  Relieve  that  it  has  anything  to 
do  with  this  country.  They  told  me  to 
go  to  the  Palmer  House,  which  is  over- 
much gilded  and  mirrored,  and  there 
I  found  a  huge  hall  of  tessellated  marble 
crammed  with  people  talking  about 
money,  and  spitting  about  everywhere. 
Other  barbarians  charged  in  and  out 
of  this  inferno  with  letters  and  telegrams 
in  their  hands,  and  yet  others  shouted  at 
each  other.  A  man  who  had  drank  quite 
as  much  as  was  good  for  him  told  me 
that  this  was  "the  finest  hotel  in  the 
finest  city  on  God  Almighty's  earth." 
By  the  way,  when  an  American  wishes  to 
indicate  the  next  country  or  state,  he  says, 
"  God  A'mighty's  earth."  This  prevents 
discussion  and  flatters  his  vanity. 

Then  I  went  out  into  the  streets,  which 
are  long  and  flat  and  without  end.  And 
verily  it  is  not  a  good  thing  to  live  in  the 


356  AMERICAN   NOTES. 

East  for  any  length  of  time.  Your  ideas 
grow  to  clash  with  those  held  by  every 
right-thinking  man.  I  looked  down  inter- 
minable vistas  flanked  with  nine,  ten,  and 
fifteen-storied  houses,  and  crowded  with 
men  and  women,  and  the  show  impressed 
me  with  a  great  horror. 

Except  in  London  —  and  I  have  for- 
gotten what  London  was  like — I  had 
never  seen  so  many  white  people  together, 
and  never  such  a  collection  of  miserables. 
There  was  no  color  in  the  street  and 
no  beauty  —  only  a  maze  of  wire  ropes 
overhead  and  dirty  stone  flagging  under 
foot. 

THROUGH  A  CAB-DRIVER'S  LENS. 

A  cab-driver  volunteered  to  show  me 
the  glory  of  the  town  for  so  much  an 
hour,  and  with  him  I  wandered  far.  He 
conceived  that  all  this  turmoil  and  squash 


CHICAGO.  '  3r)7 

was  a  thing  to  be  reverently  admired,  that 
it  was  good  to  huddle  men  together 
in  fifteen  layers,  one  atop  of  the  other, 
and  to  dig  holes  in  the  ground  for  offices. 

He  said  that  Chicago  was  a  live  town,  . 
and  that  all  the  creatures  hurrying  by  me 
were  engaged  in  business.  That  is  to  say 
they  were  trying  to  make  some  money 
that  they  might  not  die  through  lack 
of  food  to  put  into  their  bellies.  He  took 
me  to  canals  as  black  as  ink,  and  filled 
with  untold  abominations,  and  bid  me 
watch  the  stream  of  traffic  across  the 
bridges. 

He  then  took  me  into  a  saloon,  and 
while  I  drank  made  me  note  that  the 
floor  was  covered  with  coins  sunk  in 
cement.  A  Hottentot  would  not  have 
been  guilty  of  this  sort  of  barbarism. 
The  coins  made  an  effect  pretty  enough, 
but    the    man    who    put    them  there  had 


358  AMERICAN   NOTES. 

no   thought  of  beauty,  and,  therefore,  he 
was  a  savage. 

Then  my  cab-driver  showed  me  busi- 
ness blocks  gay  with  signs  and  studded 
with  fantastic  and  absurd  advertisements 
of  goods,  and  looking  down  the  long 
street  so  adorned,  it  was  as  though  each 
vender  stood  at  his  door  howling : 

"  For  the  sake  of  money,  employ  or  buy 
of  me,  and  me  only!" 

Have  you  ever  seen  a  crowd  at  a 
famine-relief  distribution  ?  You  know 
then  how  the  men  leap  into  the  air, 
stretching  out  their  arms  above  the  crowd 
in  the  hope  of  being  seen,  while  the  women 
dolorously  slap  the  stomachs  of  their  chil- 
dren and  whimper.  I  had  sooner  watch 
famine  relief  than  the  white  man  engaged 
in  what  he  calls  legitimate  competition. 
The  one  I  understand.  The  other  makes 
me  ill. 


CHICAGO. 


359 


And  the  cabman  said  that  these  things 
were  the  proof  of  progress,  and  by  that  I 
knew  he  had  been  reading  his  newspaper, 
as  every  intelligent  American  should.  The 
papers  tell  their  clientele  in  language  fitted 
to  their  comprehension  that  the  snarling 
together  of  telegraph  wires,  the  heaving 
up  of  houses,  and  the  making  of  money,  is 
progress. 

DONE  IN  TEN  HOURS. 

I  spent  ten  hours  in  that  huge  wilder- 
ness, wandering  through  scores  of  miles 
of  these  terrible  streets  and  jostling  some 
few  hundred  thousand  of  these  terrible 
people  who  talked  paisa  bat  through  their 
noses. 

The  cabman  left  me  ;  but  after  awhile  I 
picked  up  another  man,  who  was  full  of 
figures,  and  into  my  ears  he  poured  them 
as  occasion  required  or  the  big  blank  fac- 


360  AMERICAN   NOTES. 

tories  suggested.  Here  they  turned  out 
so  many  hundred  thousand  dollars'  worth 
of  such  and  such  an  article;  there  so  many 
million  other  things;  this  house  was  worth 
so  many  million  dollars  ;  that  one  so  many 
million,  more  or  less.  It  was  like  listen- 
ing to  a  child  babbling  of  its  hoard  of 
shells.  It  was  like  watching  a  fool  play- 
ing with  buttons.  But  I  was  expected  to 
do  more  than  listen  or  watch.  He 
demanded  that  I  should  admire  ;  and  the 
utmost  that  I  could  say  was  : 

"Are  these  things  so  ?  Then  I  am  very 
sorry  for  you." 

That  made  him  angry,  and  he  said  that 
insular  envy  made  me  unresponsive.  So, 
you  see,  I  could  not  make  him  under- 
stand. 

About  four  and  a  half  hours  after  Adam 
was  turned  out  of  the  Garden  of  Eden  he 
felt  hungry,  and  so,  bidding  Eve  take  care 


CHICAGO.  361 

that  her  head  was  not  broken  by  the 
descending  fruit,  shinned  up  a  cocoanut- 
palm.  That  hurt  his  legs,  cut  his  breast, 
and  made  him  breathe  heavily,  and  Eve 
was  tormented  with  fear  lest  her  lord 
should  miss  his  footing,  and  so  bring  the 
tragedy  of  this  world  to  an  end  ere  the 
curtain  had  fairly  risen.  Had  I  met 
Adam  then,  I  should  have  been  sorry  for 
him.  To-day  I  find  eleven  hundred  thou- 
sand of  his  sons  just  as  far  advanced  as 
their  father  in  the  art  of  getting  food,  and 
immeasurably  inferior  to  him  in  that  they 
think  that  their  palm  trees  lead  straight 
to  the  skies.  Consequently,  I  am  sorry  in 
rather  more  than  a  million  different  ways. 
In  the  East  bread  comes  naturally, 
even  to  the  poorest,  by  a  little  scratching 
or  the  gift  of  a  friend  not  quite  so  poor. 
In  less  favored  countries  one  is  apt  to 
forget.  Then  I  went  to  bed.  And  that 
was  on  a  Saturday  night. 


362  AMERICAN   NOTES. 

CHICAGO  PREACHING. 

Sunday  brought  me  the  queerest 
experiences  of  all  —  a  revelation  of  bar- 
barism complete.  I  found  a  place  that 
was  officially  described  as  a  church.  It 
was  a  circus  really,  but  that  the  wor- 
shipers did  not  know.  There  were  flowers 
all  about  the  building,  which  was  fitted  up 
with  plush  and  stained  oak  and  much 
luxury,  including  twisted  brass  candle- 
sticks of  severest  Gothic  design. 

To  these  things  and  a  congregation  of 
savages  entered  suddenly  a  wonderful 
man,  completely  in  the  confidence  of  their 
God,  whom  he  treated  colloquially  and 
exploited  very  much  as  a  newspaper 
reporter  would  exploit  a  foreign  poten- 
tate. But,  unlike  the  newspaper  reporter, 
he  never  allowed  his  listeners  to  forget 
that  he,  and  not  He,  was  the  center 
of  attraction.     With  a  voice  of  silver  and 


CHICAGO.  363 

with  imagery  borrowed  from  the  auction- 
room,  he  built  up  for  his  hearers  a  heaven 
on  the  lines  of  the  Palmer  House  (but 
with  all  the  gilding  real  gold,  and  all  the 
plate-glass  diamond),  and  set  in  the  center 
of  it  a  loud-voiced,  argumentive,  very 
shrewd  creation  that  he  called  God.  One 
sentence  at  this  point  caught  my  delighted 
ear.  It  was  apropos  of  some  question  of 
the  Judgment,  and  ran  : 

"No!  I  tell  you  God  doesn't  do  busi- 
ness that  way." 

He  was  giving  them  a  deity  whom  they 
could  comprehend,  and  a  gold  and  jeweled 
heaven  in  which  they  could  take  a  natural 
interest.  He  interlarded  his  performance 
with  the  slang  of  the  streets,  the  counter, 
and  the  exchange,  and  he  said  that 
religion  ought  to  enter  into  daily  life. 
Consequently,  I  presume  he  introduced  it 
as  daily  life — his  own  and  the  life  of  his 
friends. 


364  AMERICAN   NOTES. 

Then  I  escaped  before  the  blessing, 
desiring-  no  benediction  at  such  hands. 
But  the  persons  who  listened  seemed  to 
enjoy  themselves,  and  I  understood  that 
I  had  met  with  a  popular  preacher. 

Later  on,  when  I  had  perused  the 
sermons  of  a  gentleman  called  Talmage 
and  some  others,  I  perceived  that  I  had 
been  listening  to  a  very  mild  specimen. 
Yet  that  man,  with  his  brutal  gold  and 
silver  idols,  his  hands-in-pocket,  cigar-in- 
mouth,  and  hat-on-the-back-of-the-head 
style  of  dealing  with  the  sacred  vessels, 
would  count  himself,  spiritually,  quite 
competent  to  send  a  mission  to  convert 
the  Indians. 

All  that  Sunday  I  listened  to  people 
who  said  that  the  mere  fact  of  spiking 
down  strips  of  iron  to  wood,  and  getting 
a  steam  and  iron  thing  to  run  along  them 
was    progress,   that    the   telephone    was 


CHICAGO.  365 

progress,  and  the  network  of  wires  over- 
head was  progress.  They  repeated  their 
statements  again  and  again. 

One  of  them  took  me  to  their  City  Hall 
and  Board  of  Trade  works,  and  pointed 
it  out  with  pride.  It  was  very  ugly,  but 
very  big,  and  the  streets  in  front  of  it  were 
narrow  and  unclean.  When  I  saw  the 
faces  of  the  men  who  did  business  in  that 
building,  I  felt  that  there  had  been  a  mis- 
take in  their  billeting.  By  the  way,  'tis  a 
consolation  to  feel  that  I  am  not  writing 
to  an  English  audience.  Then  I  should 
have  to  fall  into  feigned  ecstasies  over  the 
marvelous  progress  of  Chicago  since  the 
days  of  the  great  fire,  to  allude  casually 
to  the  raising  of  the  entire  city  so  many 
feet  above  the  level  of  the  lake  which  it 
faces,  and  generally  to  grovel  before  the 
golden  calf.  But  you,  who  are  desper- 
ately    poor,    and,    therefore,    by    these 


-66  AMERICAN   NOTES. 

standards  of  no  account,  know  things,  will 
understand  when  I  write  that  they  have 
managed  to  get  a  million  of  men  together 
on  flat  land,  and  that  the  bulk  of  these 
men  together  appear  to  be  lower  than 
Mahajans,  and  not  so  companionable  as  a 
Punjabi  J  at  after  harvest. 

But  I  don't  think  it  was  the  blind  hurry 
of  the  people,  their  argot,  and  their  grand 
ignorance  of  things  beyond  their  imme- 
diate interests  that  displeased  me  so 
much  as  a  study  of  the  daily  papers  of 
Chicago. 

Imprimis,  there  was  some  sort  of  a 
dispute  between  New  York  and  Chicago 
as  to  which  town  should  give  an  exhibi- 
tion of  products  to  be  hereafter  holden, 
and  through  the  medium  of  their  more 
dignified  journals  the  two  cities  were  ya- 
hooing  and  hi-yi-ing  at  each  other  like  op- 
position newsboys.    They  called  it  humor, 


CHICAGO.  367 

but      it    sounded     like    something    quite 
different. 

That  was  only  the  first  trouble.  The 
second  lay  in  the  tone  of  the  productions. 
Leading  articles  which  include  gems  such 
as  "  Back  of  such  and  such  a  place,"  or, 
"We  noticed,  Tuesday,  such  an  event," 
or,  u  don't "  for  "  does  not,'1  are  things  to 
be  accepted  with  thankfulness.  All  that 
made  me  want  to  cry  was  that  in  these 
papers  were  faithfully  reproduced  all  the 
war-cries  and  "  back-talk  "  of  the  Palmer 
House  bar,  the  slang  of  the  barber-shops, 
the  mental  elevation  and  integrity  of  the 
Pullman  car  porter,  the  dignity  of  the  dime 
museum,  and  the  accuracy  of  the  excited 
fishwife.  I  am  sternly  forbidden  to  be- 
lieve that  the  paper  educates  the  public. 
Then  I  am  compelled  to  believe  that  the 
public  educate  the  paper ;  yet  suicides  on 
the  press  are  rare. 


368  AMERICAN   NOTES. 

A  PROTECTIONIST. 

Just  when  the  sense  of  unreality  and 
oppression  was  strongest  upon  me,  and 
when  I  most  wanted  help,  a  man  sat  at 
my  side  and  began  to  talk  what  he  called 
politics. 

I  had  chanced  to  pay  about  six  shillings 
for  a  traveling-cap  worth  eighteen  pence, 
and  he  made  of  the  fact  a  text  for  a  ser- 
mon. He  said  that  this  was  a  rich  coun- 
try, and  that  the  people  liked  to  pay  two 
hundred  per  cent,  on  the  value  of  a  thing. 
They  could  afford  it.  He  said  that  the 
Government  imposed  a  protective  duty  of 
from  ten  to  seventy  per  cent  on  foreign- 
made  articles,  and  that  the  American  man- 
ufacturer consequently  could  sell  hisgoods 
for  a  healthy  sum.  Thus  an  imported  hat 
would,  with  duty,  cost  two  guineas.  The 
American  manufacturer  would  make  a  hat 
for  seventeen  shillings,  and  sell  it  for  one 


CHICAGO.  369 

pound  fifteen.  In  these  things,  he  said, 
lay  the  greatness  of  America  and  the 
effeteness  of  England.  Competition 
between  factory  and  factory  kept  the 
prices  down  to  decent  limits,  but  I  was 
never  to  forget  that  this  people  were  a  rich 
people,  not  like  the  pauper  Continentals, 
and  that  they  enjoyed  paying  duties. 

To  my  weak  intellect  this  seemed 
rather  like  juggling  with  counters. 
Everything  that  I  have  yet  purchased 
costs  about  twice  as  much  as  it  would  in 
England,  and  when  native-made  is  of 
inferior  quality. 


AN  OBJECT-LESSON  IN  TRUSTS. 

Moreover,  since  these  lines  were  first 
thought  of,  I  have  visited  a  gentleman  who 
owned  a  factory  which  used  to  produce 
things.     He  owned  the  factory  still.     Not 


24 


37o 


AMERICAN   NOTES. 


a  man  was  in  it,  but  he  was  drawing  a 
handsome  income  from  a  syndicate  of 
firms  for  keeping  it  closed,  in  order  that 
it  might  not  produce  things.  This  man 
said  that  if  protection  were  abandoned,  a 
tide  of  pauper  labor  would  flood  the  coun- 
try, and  as  I  looked  at  his  factory  I 
thought  how  entirely  better  it  was  to 
have  no  labor  of  any  kind  whatever  rather 
than  face  so  horrible  a  future. 

Meantime,  do  you  remember  that  this 
peculiar  country  enjoys  paying  money  for 
value  not  received  ?  I  am  an  alien,  and 
for  the  life  of  me  I  can  not  see  why  six 
shillings  should  be  paid  for  eighteen- 
penny  caps,  or  eight  shillings  for  half- 
crown  cigar-cases.  When  the  country 
fills  up  to  a  decently  populated  level  a 
few  million  people  who  are  not  aliens 
will  be  smitten  with  the  same  sort  of 
blindness. 


CHICAGO.  37 1 

But  my  friend's  assertion  somehow 
thoroughly  suited  the  grotesque  ferocity 
of  Chicago. 

CHICAGO  VERSUS  INDIA. 

See  now  and  judge  !  In  the  village  of 
Isser  Jang,  on  the  road  to  Montgomery, 
there  be  four  Changar  women  who  win- 
now corn  —  some  seventy  bushels  a  year. 
Beyond  their  hut  lives  Purun  Dass,  the 
money-lender,  who,  on  good  security, 
lends  as  much  as  five  thousand  rupees  in  a 
year.  Jowala  Singh,  the  smith,  mends 
the  village  plows  —  some  thirty,  broken 
at  the  share,  in  three  hundred  and  sixty- 
five  days;  and  Hukm  Chund,  who  is 
letter-writer  and  head  of  the  little  club 
under  the  travelers'  tree,  generally  keeps 
the  village  posted  in  such  gossip  as  the 
barber  and  the  midwife  have  not  yet  made 
public  property. 


372  AMERICAN   NOTES. 

Chicago  husks  and  winnows  her  wheat 
by  the  million  bushels,  a  hundred  banks 
lend  hundreds  of  millions  of  dollars  in  the 
year,  and  scores  of  factories  turn  out 
plowgear  and  machinery  by  steam.  Scores 
of  daily  papers  do  work  which  Hukm 
Chund,  and  the  barber  and  the  midwife 
perform,  with  due  regard  for  public 
opinion,  in  the  village  of  Isser  Jang.  So 
far  as  manufactories  go,  the  difference 
between  Chicago  on  the  lake,  and  Isser 
Jang  on  the  Montgomery  road,  is  one  of 
degree  only,  and  not  of  kind.  As  far  as 
the  understanding  of  the  uses  of  life  goes, 
Isser  Jang,  for  all  its  seasonal  cholers,  has 
the  advantage  over  Chicago. 

Jowala  Singh  knows  and  takes  care  to 
avoid  the  three  or  four  ghoul-haunted 
fields  on  the  outskirts  of  the  village  ;  but 
he  is  not  urged  by  millions  of  devils  to 
run  about  all  day  in  the  sun  and  swear 


CHICAGO.  373 

that  his  plowshares  are  the  best  in  the 
Punjab  ;  nor  does  Purun  Dass  fly  forth  in 
an  ekka  more  than  once  or  twice  a  year, 
and  he  knows,  on  a  pinch,  how  to  use  the 
railway  and  the  telegraph  as  well  as  any  son 
of  Israel  in  Chicago.      But  this  is  absurd. 

The  East  is  not  the  West,  and  these 
men  must  continue  to  deal  with  the 
machinery  of  life,  and  to  call  it  progress. 
Their  very  preachers  dare  not  rebuke 
them.  They  gloss  over  the  hunting  for 
money  and  the  thrice-sharpened  bitterness 
of  Adam's  curse,  by  saying  that  such 
things  dower  a  man  with  a  larger  range 
of  thoughts  and  higher  aspirations.  They 
do  not  say,  "  Free  yourselves  from  your 
own  slavery,"  but  rather,  "  If  you  can 
possibly  manage  it,  do  not  set  quite  so 
much  store  on  the  things  of  this  world." 

And  they  do  not  know  what  the  things 
of  this  world  are  ! 


374  AMERICAN   NOTES.      - 

FE,    FI,  FO,  FUM  ! 

I  went  off  to  see  cattle  killed,  by  way  of 
clearing  my  head,  which,  as  you  will  per- 
ceive was  getting  muddled.  They  say 
every  Englishman  goes  to  the  Chicago 
stock-yards.  You  shall  find  them  about 
six  miles  from  the  city  ;  and  once  having 
seen  them,  you  will  never  forget  the  sight. 

As  far  as  the  eye  can  reach  stretches  a 
township  of  cattle-pens,  cunningly  divided 
into  blocks,  so  that  the  animals  of  any 
pen  can  be  speedily  driven  out  close  to  an 
inclined  timber  path  which  leads  to  an 
elevated  covered  way  straddling  high 
above  the  pens.  These  viaducts  are  two- 
storied.  On  the  upper  story  tramp  the 
doomed  cattle,  stolidly  for  the  most  part. 
On  the  lower,  with  a  scuffling  of  sharp 
hoofs  and  multitudinous  yells,  run  the 
pigs,  the  same  end  being  appointed  for 
each.      Thus  you  will  see  the   gangs  of 


Chicago.  375 

cattle  waiting  their  turn — as  they  wait 
sometimes  for  days ;  and  they  need  not 
be  distressed  by  the  sight  of  their  fellows 
running  about  in  the  fear  of  death.  All 
they  know  is  that  a  man  on  horseback 
causes  their  next-door  neighbors  to  move 
by  means  of  a  whip.  Certain  bars  and 
fences  are  unshipped,  and  behold  !  that 
crowd  have  gone  up  the  mouth  of  a  slop- 
ing tunnel  and  return  no  more. 

It  is  different  with  the  pigs.  They 
shriek  back  the  news  of  the  exodus  to 
their  friends,  and  a  hundred  pens  skirl 
responsive. 

It  was  to  the  pigs  I  first  addressed 
myself.  Selecting  a  viaduct  which  was 
full  of  them,  as  I  could  hear,  though  I 
could  not  see,  I  marked  a  somber  building 
whereto  it  ran,  and  went  there,  not  una- 
larmed  by  stray  cattle  who  had  managed 
to  escape  from  their  proper  quarters.     A 


376  AMERICAN   NOTES. 

pleasant  smell  of  brine  warned  me  of  what 
was  coming.  I  entered  the  factory  and 
found  it  full  of  pork  in  barrels,  and  on 
another  story  more  pork  unbarreled,  and 
in  a  huge  room  the  halves  of  swine,  for 
whose  behoof  great  lumps  of  ice  were 
being  pitched  in  at  the  window.  That 
room  was  the  mortuary  chamber  where 
the  pigs  lay  for  a  little  while  in  state  ere 
they  began  their  progress  through  such 
passages  as  kings  may  sometimes  travel. 


HOW  PORK  IS  MADE. 

Turning  a  corner,  and  not  noting  an 
overhead  arrangement  of  greased  rail, 
wheel  and  pulley,  I  ran  into  the  arms  of 
four  eviscerated  carcasses,  all  pure  white 
and  of  a  human  aspect,  pushed  by  a  man 
clad  in  vehement  red.  When  I  leaped 
aside,  the  floor  was   slippery  under    me. 


CHICAGO. 


377 


Also  there  was  a  flavor  of  farmyard  in 
my  nostrils  and  the  shouting  of  a  multi- 
tude in  my  ears.  But  there  was  no  joy 
in  that  shouting.  Twelve  men  stood  in 
two  lines  six  a  side.  Between  them  and 
overhead  ran  the  railway  of  death  that 
had  nearly  shunted  me  through  the 
window.  Each  man  carried  a  knife,  the 
sleeves  of  his  shirt  were  cut  off  at  the 
elbows,  and  from  bosom  to  heel  he  was 
blood-red. 

Beyond  this  perspective  was  a  column 
of  steam,  and  beyond  that  was  where 
I  worked  my  awe-struck  way,  unwilling  to 
touch  beam  or  wall.  The  atmosphere 
was  stifling  as  a  night  in  the  rains  by 
reason  of  the  steam  and  the  crowd. 
I  climbed  to  the  beginning  of  things  and, 
perched  upon  a  narrow  beam,  overlooked 
very  nearly  all  the  pigs  ever  bred  in 
Wisconsin.     They  had  just  been  shot  out 


-  -5. 


;8  AMERICAN   NOTES. 

of  the  mouth  of  the  viaduct  and  huddled 
together  in  a  large  pen.  Thence  they 
were  flicked  persuasively,  a  few  at  a  time, 
into  a  smaller  chamber,  and  there  a  man 
fixed  tackle  on  their  hinder  legs,  so  that 
they  rose  in  the  air,  suspended  from  the 
railway  of  death. 

Oh !  it  was  then  they  shrieked  and 
called  on  their  mothers,  and  made 
promises  of  amendment,  till  the  tackle- 
man  punted  them  in  their  backs  and  they 
slid  head  down  into  a  brick-floored  passage, 
very  like  a  big  kitchen  sink,  that  was 
blood-red.  There  awaited  them  a  red 
man  with  a  knife,  which  he  passed  jauntily 
through  their  throats,  and  the  full-voiced 
shriek  became  a  splutter,  and  then  a  fall 
as  of  heavy  tropical  rain,  and  the  red  man, 
who  was  backed  against  the  passage-wall, 
you  will  understand,  stood  clear  of  the 
wildly  kicking  hoofs  and  passed  his  hand 


CHICAGO.  379 

over  his  eyes,  not  from  any  feeling  of 
compassion,  but  because  the  spurted 
blood  was  in  his  eyes,  and  he  had  barely 
time  to  stick  the  next  arrival.  Then  that 
first  stuck  swine  dropped,  still  kicking, 
into  a  great  vat  of  boiling  water,  and 
spoke  no  more  words,  but  wallowed  in 
obedience  to  some  unseen  machinery,  and 
presently  came  forth  at  the  lower  end 
of  the  vat,  and  was  heaved  on  the  blades 
of  a  blunt  paddle-wheel,  things  which  said 
"  Hough,  hough,  hough ! "  and  skelped  all 
the  hair  off  him,  except  what  little  a  couple 
of  men  with  knives  could  remove. 

Then  he  was  again  hitched  by  the  heels 
to  that  said  railway,  and  passed  down  the 
line  of  the  twelve  men,  each  man  with 
a  knife  —  losing  with  each  man  a  certain 
amount  of  his  individuality,  which  was 
taken  away  in  a  wheelbarrow,  and  when 
he    reached    the   last   man    he  was   very 


:>SO  AMERICAN   NOTES. 

beautiful  to  behold,  but  excessively 
unstuffed  and  limp.  Preponderance  of 
individuality,  was  ever  a  bar  to  foreign 
travel.  That  pig  could  have  been  in  case 
to  visit  you  in  India  had  he  not  parted 
with  some  of  his  most  cherished  notions. 
The  dissecting  part  impressed  me  not 
so  much  as  the  slaying.  They  were 
so  excessively  alive,  these  pigs.  And 
then,  they  were  so  excessively  dead,  and 
the  man  in  the  dripping,  clammy,  hot 
passage  did  not  seem  to  care,  and  ere  the 
blood  of  such  a  one  had  ceased  to  foam 
on  the  floor,  such  another  and  four  friends 
with  him  had  shrieked  and  died.  But  a 
pig  is  only  the  unclean  animal  —  the  for- 
bidden of  the  prophet. 


THE  AMERICAN  ARMY. 


I  should  very  much  like  to  deliver  a 
dissertation  on  the  American  army  and 
the  possibilities  of  its  extension.  You 
see,  it  is  such  a  beautiful  little  army,  and 
the  dear  people  don't  quite  understand 
what  to  do  with  it.  The  theory  is  that  it 
is  an  instructional  nucleus  round  which 
the  militia  of  the  country  will  rally,  and 
from  which  they  will  get  a  stiffening 
in  time  of  danger.  Yet  other  people  con- 
sider that  the  army  should  be  built,  like 
a  pair  of  lazy  tongs  —  on  the  principle  of 
elasticity  and  extension  —  so  that  in  time 
of  need  it  may  fill  up  its  skeleton  bat- 
talions and  empty  saddle  troops.  This  is 
real  wisdom,  because  the  American  army, 
as  at  present  constituted,   is  made  up  of : 

Twenty-five  regiments  infantry,  ten 
companies  each. 

(881) 


382  AMERICAN   NOTES. 

Ten  regiments  cavalry,  twelve  com- 
panies each. 

Five  regiments  artillery,  twelve  com- 
panies each. 

Now  there  is  a  notion  in  the  air  to  re- 
organize the  service  on  these  lines  : 

Eighteen  regiments  infantry  at  four 
battalions,  four  companies  each  ;  third  bat- 
talion, skeleton  ;  fourth,  on  paper. 

Eight  regiments  cavalry  at  four  bat- 
talions, four  troops  each  ;  third  battalion, 
skeleton  ;  fourth  on  paper. 

Five  regiments  artillery  at  four  bat- 
talions, four  companies  each  ;  third  bat- 
talion, skeleton  ;  fourth  on  paper. 


A  CONCERTINA  ARMY. 

Observe  the  beauty  of  this  business. 
The  third  battalion  will  have  its  officers, 
but  no    men  ;    the    fourth    will    probably 


THE   AMERICAN   ARMY. 


tf3 


have  a  rendezvous  and  some  equipment. 
It  is  not  contemplated  to  give  it  any- 
thing more  definite  at  present.  Assum- 
ing the  regiments  to  be  made  up  .to  full 
complement,  we  get  an  army  of  fifty 
thousand  men,  which,  after  the  need  passes 
away,  must  be  cut  down  50  per  cent,  to 
the  huge  delight  of  the  officers. 

The  military  needs  of  the  States  be 
three  :  (a)  Frontier  warfare,  an  employ- 
ment well  within  the  grip  of  the  present 
army  of  twenty-five  thousand,  and  in  the 
nature  of  things  growing  less  arduous 
year  by  year  ;  (b)  internal  riots  and  com- 
motions which  rise  up  like  a  dust  devil, 
whirl  furiously,  and  die  out  long  before 
the  authorities  at  Washington  could  begin 
to  fill  up  even  the  third  skeleton  bat- 
talions, much  less  hunt  about  for  material 
for  the  fourth  ;  (c)  civil  war,  in  which,  as 
the  case  in  the  affair  of  the  North  and 


384  AMERICAN   NOTES. 

South,  the  regular  army  would  be 
swamped  in  the  mass  of  militia  and  armed 
volunteers  that  would  turn  the  land  into 
a  hell. 

Yet  the  authorities  persist  in  regarding 
an  external  war  as  a  thing  to  be  seriously 
considered. 

.  The  power  that  would  disembark  troops 
on  American  soil  would  be  capable  of 
heaving-  a  shovelful  of  mud  into  the  At- 
lantic  in  the  hope  of  filling  it  up.  Con- 
sequently, the  authorities  are  fascinated 
with  the  idea  of  the  sliding  scale  or  con- 
certina army.  This  is  an  hereditary  in- 
stinct, for  you  know  that  when  we  Eng- 
lish have  got  together  two  companies,  one 
machine  gun,  a  sick  bullock,  forty  gen- 
erals, and  a  mass  of  W.  O.  forms,  we  say 
we  possess  "  an  army  corps  capable  of  in- 
definite extension." 

The  American  army  is  a  beautiful  little 


THE   AMERICAN   ARMY.  385 

army.  Some  day,  when  all  the  Indians 
are  happily  dead  or  drunk,  it  ought  to 
make  the  finest  scientific  and  survey  corps 
that  the  world  has  ever  seen  ;  it  does  ex- 
cellent work  now,  but  there  is  this  defect 
in  its  nature :  It  is  officered,  as  you 
know,  from  West  Point. 


WEST  POINT  LEAVENING'. 

The  mischief  of  it  is  that  West  Point 
seems  to  be  created  for  the  purpose 
of  spreading  a  general  knowledge  of  mili- 
tary matters  among  the  people.  A  boy 
goes  up  to  that  institution,  gets  his  pass, 
and  returns  to  civil  life,  so  they  tell  me, 
with  a  dangerous  knowledge  that  he  is  a 
suckling  Von  Moltke,  and  may  apply  his 
learning  when  occasion  offers.  Given 
trouble,  that  man  will  be  a  nuisance, 
because  he  is  a  hideously  versatile  Ameri- 

25 


386  AMERICAN   NOTES. 

can,  to  begin  with,  as  cock-sure  of  himself 
as  a  man  can  be,  and  with  all  the  racial 
disregard  for  human  life  to  back  him, 
through  any  demi-semi-professional  gen- 
eralship. 

In  a  country  where,  as  the  records 
of  the  daily  papers  show,  men  engaged  in 
a  conflict  with  police  or  jails  are  all  too 
ready  to  adopt  a  military  formation  and 
get  heavily  shot  in  a  sort  of  cheap,  half- 
constructed  warfare,  instead  of  being 
decently  scared  by  the  appearance  of  the 
military,  this  sort  of  arrangement  does 
not  seem  wise. 


SOVEREIGN  STATE  LAWLESSNESS. 

The  bond  between  the  States  is  of  an 
amazing  tenuity.  So  long  as  they  do  not 
absolutely  march  into  the  District  of 
Columbia,  sit  on  the  Washington  statues, 


THE   AMERICAN   ARMY.  387 

and  invent  a  flag  of  their  own,  they  can 
legislate,  lynch,  hunt  negroes  through 
swamps,  divorce,  railroad,  and  rampage 
as  much  as  ever  they  choose.  They 
do  not  need  knowledge  of  their  own 
military  strength  to  back  their  genial 
lawlessness. 

That  regular  army,  which  is  a  dear 
little  army,  should  be  kept  to  itself, 
blooded  on  detachment  duty,  turned  into 
the  paths  of  science,  and  now  and  again 
assembled  at  feasts  of  Free  Masons,  and 
so  forth. 

It  is  too  tiny  to  be  a  political  power. 
The  immortal  wreck  of  the  Grand  Army 
of  the  Republic  is  a  political  power  of  the 
largest  and  most  unblushing  description. 
It  ought  not  to  help  to  lay  the  founda- 
tions of  an  amateur  military  power  that  is 
blind  and  irresponsible. 


388  AMERICAN   NOTES. 

SALT  LAKE  CITY. 

By  great  good  luck  the  evil-minded 
train,  already  delayed  twelve  hours  by  a 
burned  bridge,  brought  me  to  the  city  on 
a  Saturday  by  way  of  that  valley  which 
the  Mormons,  over  their  efforts,  had 
caused  to  blossom  like  the  rose.  Twelve 
hours  previously  I  had  entered  into  a  new 
world  where,  in  conversation,  every  one 
was  either  a  Mormon  or  a  Gentile.  It  is 
not  seemly  for  a  free  and  independent 
citizen  to  dub  himself  a  Gentile,  but  the 
Mayor  of  Ogden  —  which  is  the  Gentile 
city  of  the  valley  —  told  me  that  there 
must  be  some  distinction  between  the 
two  flocks. 

Long  before  the  fruit  orchards  of  Logan 
or  the  shining  levels  of  the  Salt  Lake  had 
been  reached,  that  mayor  —  himself  a  Gen- 
tile, and  one  renowned  for  his  dealings 
with  the    Mormons  —  told    me   that    the 


THE   AMERICAN   ARMY.  389 

great  question  of  the  existence  of  the 
power  within  the  power  was  being  gradu- 
ally solved  by  the  ballot  and  by  education. 
All  the  beauty  of  the  valley  could  not 
make  me  forget  it.  And  the  valley  is  very 
fair.  Bench  after  bench  of  land,  flat  as  a 
table  against  the  flanks  of  the  ringing 
hills,  marks  where  the  Salt  Lake  rested 
for  awhile  in  its  collapse  from  an  inland 
sea  to  a  lake  fifty  miles  long  and  thirty 
broad. 

THE  CREED  OF  MORMON. 

There  are  the  makings  of  a  very  fine 
creed  about  Mormonism.  To  begin  with, 
the  Church  is  rather  more  absolute  than 
that  of  Rome.  Drop  the  poligamy  plank 
in  the  platform,  but  on  the  other  hand 
deal  lightly  with  certain  forms  of  excess  ; 
keep  the  quality  of  the  recruit  down  to 
the  low  mental  level,  and  see  that  the  best 


3QO  AMERICAN    NOTES. 

of  all  the  agricultural  science  available  is 
in  the  hands  of  the  elders,  and  there  you 
have  a  first-class  engine  for  pioneer  work. 
The  tawdry  mysticism  and  the  borrowing 
from  Free-masonry  serve  the  low  caste 
Swede  and  Dane,  the  Welshman  and  the 
Cornish  cotter,  just  as  well  as  a  highly 
organized  heaven. 

Then  I  went  about  the  streets  and 
peeped  into  people's  front  windows,  and 
the  decorations  upon  the  tables  were  after 
the  manner  of  the  year  1850.  Main  Street 
was  full  of  country  folk  from  the  desert, 
come  in  to  trade  with  the  Zion  Mercantile 
Co-operative  Institute.  The  Church,  I 
fancy,  looks  after  the  finances  of  this  thing, 
and  it  consequently  pays  good  dividends. 

The  faces  of  the  women  were  not 
lovely.  Indeed,  but  for  the  certainty 
that  ugly  persons  are  just  as  irrational 
in  the  matter  of    undivided    love  as   the 


THE   AMERICAN   ARMY.  39 1 

beautiful,  it  seems  that  poligamy  was  a 
blessed  institution  for  the  women,  and 
that  only  the  dread  threats  of  the  spirit- 
ual power  could  drive  the  hulking,  board- 
faced  men  into  it.  The  women  wore 
hideous  garments,  and  the  men  appeared 
to  be  tied  up  with  strings. 

They  would  market  all  that  afternoon, 
and  on  Sunday  go  to  the  praying-place. 
I  tried  to  talk  to  a  few  of  them,  but  they 
spoke  strange  tongues,  and  stared  and 
behaved  like  cows.  Yet  one  woman,  and 
not  an  altogether  ugly  one,  confided  to 
me  that  she  hated  the  idea  of  Salt  Lake 
City  being  turned  into  a  show-place  for 
the  amusement  of  the  Gentiles. 

lt  If  we  'ave  our  own  institutions,  that 
ain't  no  reason  why  people  should  come 
'ere  and  stare  at  us,  his  it?" 

The  dropped  "h"  betrayed  her. 

"And  when  did  you  leave  England  ?" 


3Q 2  AMERICAN   NOTES. 

11  Summer  of  '84.  I  am  Dorset,"  she 
said.  "  The  Mormon  agent  was  very  good 
to  us,  and  we  was  very  poor.  Now  we're 
better  off — my  father,  an'  mother,  an'  me." 

"  Then  you  like  the  State  ? " 

She  misunderstood  at  first. 

"  Oh,  I  ain't  livin'  in  the  state  of  polyg- 
amy. Not  me,  yet.  I  ain't  married.  I 
like  where  I  am.  I've  got  things  o'  my 
own  —  and  some  land." 

"  But  I  suppose  you  will  —  " 

"  Not  me.  I  ain't  like  them  Swedes 
an'  Danes.  I  ain't  got  nothin'  to  say  for 
or  against  polygamy.  It's  the  elders' 
business,  an'  between,  you  an'  me,  I  don't 
think  it's  going  on  much  longer.  You1!! 
'ear  them  in  the  'ouse  to-morrer  talkin'  as 
if  it  was  spreadin1  all  over  America.    The 

Swedes,    they    think    it  his.      I  know    it 

hi.  >» 
isn  t. 

"  But  you've  got  your  land  all  right?" 


THE  AMERICAN  ARMY.  393 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  we've  got  our  land,  an'  we 
never  say  aught  against  polygamy,  o' 
course — father,  an'  mother,  an'  me." 


AT  THE  LAST  GASP. 

On  a  table-land  overlooking  all  the  city 
stands  the  United  States  garrison  of  in- 
fantry and  artillery.  The  State  of  Utah 
can  do  nearly  anything  it  pleases  until 
that  much-to-be-desired  hour  when  the 
Gentile  vote  shall  quietly  swamp  out  Mor- 
monism  ;  but  the  garrison  is  kept  there  in 
case  of  accidents.  The  big,  shark- 
mouthed,  pig-eared,  heavy-boned  farmers 
sometimes  take  to  their  creed  with  wildest 
fanaticism,  and  in  past  years  have  made 
life  excessively  unpleasant  for  the  Gentile 
when  he  was  few  in  the  land.  But  to- 
day, so  far  from  killing  openly  or  secretly, 
or  burning  Gentile  farms,  it  is  all  theMor- 


;94 


AMERICAN   NOTES. 


mon  dare  do  to  feebly  try  to  boycott  the 
interloper.  His  journals  preach  defiance 
to  the  United  States  Government,  and  in 
the  Tabernacle  on  a  Sunday  the  preachers 
follow  suit. 

When  I  went  there,  the  place  was  full 
of  people  who  would  have  been  much 
better  for  a  washing.  A  man  rose  up  and 
told  them  that  they  were  the  chosen  of 
God,  the  elect  of  Israel ;  that  they  were 
to  obey  their  priests,  and  that  there  was  a 
good  time  coming.  I  fancy  that  they 
had  heard  all  this  before  so  many  times  it 
produced  no  impression  whatever,  even  as 
the  sublimest  mysteries  of  another  faith 
lose  salt  through  constant  iteration.  They 
breathed  heavily  through  their  noses,  and 
stared  straight  in  front  of  them — im- 
passive as  flatfish. 

THE    END. 


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